


Defeated

by Ember3ye



Category: Kakayama - Fandom, Naruto, Yamakaka
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Injured Kakashi, M/M, late kakayama week...?, yeaah it's finally going up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4985932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ember3ye/pseuds/Ember3ye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kakashi's life has never turned out the way he hoped. This year has started no different. But then a runaway forces his gentle way in, and things begin to change. For both of them, and it's finally time to stand up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Isolated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyJemsie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJemsie/gifts).



> college au I keep abandoning then coming back to months later so hopefully posting it will force me to keep at it.  
> and this whole thing is dedicated to my editor, who's helped me out so often and given up her time to read over my stuff and gosh thank you so much  
> I hope you like it, anyway!

Kakashi first became aware he was late the fifteenth time he was hit. Not that he knew, or could keep track of, the hit count. He'd caught a glimpse of the attacker's watch-gold-plated and very fancy-when they'd caught him square on the jawline. Nine twenty. Had he really been here that long already? Honestly, he was surprised he was still standing, even if his legs were unstable and wobbly. After a bit, all the pain and aches just melded together into one big static-like mess, and it was difficult to keep track of where he was currently being punched or kicked. Reeling backwards in an uncontrollable stagger, Kakashi's mind instantly snapped to searching for escape means. Another late offence really wouldn't help his chances of staying here, and he couldn't-

Another blow, this time to the abdomen, forcefully flung any thoughts out of Kakashi's head as he gasped for breath, doubling over in pain. Swallowing down air in huge gulps, Kakashi stared up coldly at the opposition, who paused to speak.

"Changed your mind yet?"

The eager cracking of knuckles filling the alleyway told Kakashi that they hoped the answer would be no.

"I'm considering," Kakashi replied, a little limply;he was still winded badly.

It was an obvious lie, a play for gaining more recovery time, and they both knew that equally well.

"You're already late, aren't you?"

The second voice floated flatly to Kakashi's ears, more sickeningly smooth than downing four litres of pure honey at once.

"I'm sure all your classmates are worried about you. You should go run along and show up before their concern becomes serious."

Kakashi's jaw locked up in anger, fists coldly clenching up into tight balls at his side. No-one in his class gave a single shit about him, and both of them knew that too. But provoking him wouldn't work, not anymore. Kakashi spun around and bolted away. He was past caring about their stupid comments, their stupid threats, their stupid, false offers of something better, emptied into his impossible-to-close ears as fists smashed into his face. Kakashi ran on.

\---

Yamato barely was halfway through another smothering yawn when Gai walked into the classroom. Kidding. Gai doesn't just walk like a regular man, he practically dashes into every class with an enthusiastic gusto that matched a tornado's en route to mass destruction. This mostly succeeded in keeping the students awake-alive was another story altogether, although sometimes Yamato's eyes wished they'd never trodden upon green and orange in the same outfit.

"GOOOOOD MORN, MY DEAR YOUTHFUL STUDENTS!"

Yamato winced at his massive shout which-amazingly-undoubtedly carried all the way up to the back row of the lecture hall. Probably best for the imminent drop-outs at the back, and probably very painful for the people seated on the front row. You can imagine Yamato's surprise when someone shouted back with rivalling equal motivation. Who even has motivation?

"I WILL RECORD EVERY WORD OF WISDOM YOU SPEAK TODAY, GAI-SENSEI! WITHOUT FAIL!"

Ah. That guy.

"They're at it again," Asuma grumbled, not exactly bad-tempered, more with a hint of affectionate amusement.

"Yeah," Yamato sighed, his pen already scratching restlessly across the paper. "I wonder when they'll regret the bowl haircuts."

"I'll help them to delete every photo of them with it in the future," Kurenai chipped in cheerfully, stretching forward from the row behind to poke Asuma in the back.

"Have you seen how many selfies Gai takes? Good luck," Yamato sighed, observing the duo finally coming out of their pumped-up yelling session and beginning the class.

"Alright, today we're going to discuss dualism!"

Yamato managed to lift his resting chin from his palm in mild interest. Finally. This was the part of the course he'd been looking forward to. Glancing over to Asuma beside him, Yamato could tell he was almost invigorated enough to write. Yamato firmly shook his head to hopefully pulverize the fogged-up cotton balls clogging up his mind's rivers. This wasn't like him. He needed to concentrate and take notes diligently, like he always did.

"But I didn't get my coffee today..." Yamato murmured sleepily under his breath. Such a great excuse to not pay attention.

No matter about the real reason, he was blaming today's mental slowness on lack of caffeine. Kurenai had a secret mixture that she claimed could keep her studying into the late hours of the morning-he must investigate that. A sharp poke brought him back, and he glowered behind him in annoyance.

"Stop zoning out," Kurenai hissed with an amiable smile, gesturing to Gai speaking.

Yamato blinked. He should win an achievement for somehow tuning Gai's booming, emotional vocal chords in action out. How'd he manage that? Rotating back around, he began writing what Gai was saying, vowing to convince Asuma to let him copy his notes down later. Then he heard snoring beside him.

"Asuma!" Yamato jabbed him in the side, underneath the ribs and he spluttered awake.

"Is it over?"

"No, but you're going to fail if you don't pay attention," Yamato criticized, completely forgetting to take down notes.

"Both of you, shut up and get on with it," Kurenai quietly instructed.

Yamato's sense of duty kicked in then-to be a morning person, he required coffee-and even Asuma, the token delinquent in his rebellious phase, began to focus.

And then someone arrived late. Again.

"Ah, Kakashi. I see you've decided to grace us with your presence. Late, as usual."

Asuma rolled his brown eyes heavily at the slumped form making his casual way up the aisle, grey hair messily splattered around his covered face. Chains clinked by his faded jeans, intertwining with his beaten belt and one odd disconnected one reaching all the way down to the tops of their heavy booted footwear. Yamato's gaze followed the swaying, tarnished silver until the figure slouched, uncaring, into a tarnished seat about five rows in from of him. Definitely because the back rows were filled up.

This guy was someone Yamato avoided at all costs. He had enough trouble to deal with without this guy getting into his friend circle and fucking it up even further. Maybe it was the way he presented himself, in a dull leather jacket that stopped looking edgy ten years ago . Maybe it was the way Yamato couldn't read him at all. Not one bit. He'd never even seen his one open eye. He'd heard rumours of a freak red eye with a scar down the eyelid, but honestly his hair was such a fucking lost cause it was impossible to even see. Without getting pretty close. Which Yamato tended to avoid out of pure instinct. He couldn't even recall the guy's freaking name for any length at all. What he did remember was the goosebumps running down his arms every time he saw him. This guy was bad news. His instincts told him, and he trusted them.

And Yamato had gotten sidetracked again. Cursing, Yamato quickly slapped Asuma awake again before continuing his notes, with a lot of holes. He'd fill them in later. If he could convince Kurenai to let him see hers.

\--

"Please..." Yamato begged, sidling up to Kurenai, notebook in hand. "I never asked to copy before."

"Point taken," Kurenai admitted, shrugging and sliding a hardback over across the table at him. "One time only, though. I'm not responsible for your grades."

"Thank you," Yamato chimed happily, flipping past neat handwriting to the back of the notes. "Has Asuma given up asking yet?"

Kurenai sighed, relaxing with her chin on her palm and sinking down slowly onto the kitchen table.

"I've told him countless times that if he doesn't even show up to the class he doesn't deserve the information, but it never seems to register with him that to pass classes you need to pay attention."

"Huh," Yamato replied, pen working hard. "I don't think he's talking to you just because he wants to pass classes."

"He's still an irresponsible kid mentally," Kurenai answered back. "I would never have any interest in him that way."

"Uh-huh," Yamato said, only half his focus on the conversation. "I think he's that way because he's got some father issues, you know, wanting to rebel, etc."

"That's still not an excuse to act like a spoiled child."

"I hear people bitching, therefore I am here," Genma declared, flinging the kitchen door open with a bang.

"We're not bad-mouthing anyone," Yamato defended, barely bothering to glance up at the blonde. "Well, not saying anything that isn't true."

"Hey, this is my house," Genma pointed out, hopping onto the table. "I need in on all them bitching sessions."

"It's not yours," Kurenai reminded him. "Yamato's-"

"Yeah, yeah I know," Genma rolled his eyes. "It's rented, Yamato pays half the rent, blah blah whatever. It's still my house."

"College accommodation is cheaper," Kurenai said.

"It sucks."

"It's not that bad. Asuma's roommate is a dick, but I was lucky and got Anko, so it's just a little risky."

Genma burst out in chuckles, the toothpick he was eternally chewing almost toppling out past his lips.

"You call having Anko as your roommate lucky?"

"She's pretty nice, once you get to know here," Kurenai shot back. "Once you get used to the snakes and punk rock band posters everywhere."

"Fuck, Asuma's roommate must really be bad then."

"I don't know. He just told me about how anti-social he is," Kurenai shrugged. "There's a rumour that he once-"

At this stage, Yamato had taken down all the day's notes, so he thanked Kurenai once again and headed up to his room to study the new information. He wasn't interested in any of the gossip anyway.

"Stay out of trouble, and trouble will stay out of your way," Yamato told himself quietly.

The strategy had worked all semester so far, and he was praying that he didn't do anything to screw it up. With college qualifications, he could finally get a normal job, buy a house, and move the fuck away from Danzo. Permanently. And it wouldn't matter if Danzo let him leave the agency or not-he was going, and he could finally be independent with his own money. Three more months to go, and his first year would be over. Yamato could make it three more months.

Heaving himself up the final step, Yamato trudged into his room, grabbed a random book and flopped onto the bed. Laying on his back, he held the book up high above his face, flicking through the pages to find something interesting. Huh, this one was about classical architecture...no harm in doing a bit of extra study. Tired, he soon fizzled out of energy, book thudding down beside him as he fell gradually into a dreamless sleep.

\----

Yamato's craving had sadly, set in quite early. So here he was, half-asleep, shuffling forward in a line that seemed to last eternity. Thank God there was a café nearby the house, or there might've been a slight problem. As in, instant coffee simply sucked to him. It would do in an emergency, but, otherwise, in every other situation, fuck it. Impatiently waiting, he wasted some time examining the people dotted around the small-ish café, but well decorated. Yamato saw the usual people as he did everywhere- each a little different and unique, but just as much as the next person. Nobody really stuck out for him, perhaps he had to be searching for someone for someone to break the dead straight line of same old, same old. However, there was a very appealing little corner table by the window. Yamato made an inner reminder of the place, which offered a good view of both external and internal surroundings. It was currently unoccupied, probably due to the darkness and how there were only two spaces max -most people here were in groups.

And it was his seat, reliable and always free.

"Hurry up, please," Yamato bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, trying to see the start of the line between people.

"Stop fucking fidgeting."

Yamato blinked and spun around to see who had spoken so rudely. And in public, too! A child could've heard that type of language. His protests writhed and died painfully on his tongue as he took in the incredibly creased jacket, ashy hair and...bright orange book?! He wasn't even looking at Yamato anymore, which made him have doubts if he was the one who had spoken at all. Then he spoke again. And the voice matched up perfectly. Uncaring and detached.

"Also, stop fucking staring. It's rude."

"I'm the one who's rude?!"

Great, the first thing he managed to say and it wasn't even civil. Honestly, looking at this guy, Yamato didn't think even he could uphold politeness for long. But he was damn well going to try.

"Yeah," The guy answered flatly, not lifting his vision off the page.

"You're the one giving strangers orders," Yamato defended, noticing a flash of dark grey through the hair cascading over his eyes.

The guy was silent for a bit, flicking a page over with one finger, and Yamato began to think maybe he'd won the argument.

"The line's moved up."

Yamato instantly spun around forwards again, and saw that he was indeed right, that there was a massive space between him and the person in front. And he was starting to get irritated looks from the caffeine junkies behind him too. Yamato raised his chin and strode forward, ignoring the guy behind him.

Heading for his usual table-the one he'd been using since the start of the year-Yamato's skin prickled and he sensed a sharp gaze stab him. Sitting down in the round, swivel chair, Yamato eyed up the owner of the glower, wondering what the hell it was now. Everything he did seemed to be completely disliked by this damn guy. The same damn guy standing over him with a steaming cup of tea.

"That's my table."

"Apologies, but I was here first," Yamato replied, raising his vision to one emotionless grey eye.

From this angle-Yamato seated, and the strange guy standing at the other side of the circular, small table-he could clearly see what he couldn't before. Hair was no longer obstructing the view of his eyes, and Yamato took in the trembling white line scarring a path down his left eyelid like a very, very thin waterfall, with fascination and mild alarm. What could've caused an injury so severe? Did he even have an eye underneath that eyelid anymore? His other open eye wasn't any less intimidating, stormy grey like charged clouds gathering together before bright lightning was created.

"I was sitting there last year."

"I'm sitting here this year."

Yamato didn't drop his gaze, and neither did he. There was another, unused chair at the other end of the table, but that guy didn't even appear to consider the option of actually sitting down with someone. How long the staredown lasted, Yamato had no idea, but eventually the other's short-fused patience ran out. He left with some ominous words.

"I'll get it next time."

Shrugging, Yamato returned to his coffee, which he discovered with a huge amount of disappointment, had cooled down a lot. Lukewarm coffee was only slightly below instant coffee on Yamato's list of things that disgusted him, but he believed the order would be rejigged around. That guy now claimed the top spot.

\--

The next encounter they had was only days later. Much too soon for Yamato's liking. He padded into the cafe with a cat at his heels, hoping in vain that the owners didn't mind or see. The guy-couldn't even remember his damn name-took his place in the queue behind Yamato, book in hand, but not before shooting a repulsed look down at Yamato's ankles. Yamato caught it, and he felt himself get annoyed. Perhaps that was why he experienced a slight lapse in judgement, and he turned around to him again. Remember, Yamato, dignified and collected, calm and together.

"Why don't you like cats?"

"Hm? Where did you get that idea from?"

"You gave Juglans a nasty look a few seconds ago."

Yamato must've hooked his interest, because he actually paused reading to stare somehow in a dead monotone at Yamato.

"Juglans."

"Yes, part of the Latin name for walnut," Yamato confirmed. "What's wrong with it?"

"Your cat's name is Juglans. Named after a walnut tree."

“I did consider Fraxinus.”

“What’s that based on?”

“Ash.”

“....I see…”

Deciding not to tell him about the other names he’d considered (the redwood tree, sequoia sempervirens, S.S for short) he shrugged, carefully scooping Juglans up from the ground, and Juglans happily clawing his arms off.

"He's not-ow, not really my cat, I just-ouch, Jug, not my ear please- I just started feeding him and he hangs around me. I think he's quite fond of me-" Yamato broke off, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he attempted to unhook Juglan's painful claws from his shoulders.

Yamato couldn't tell, but the man in front of him might've even been amused.

"He'd be easier to handle with a bullet in him."

Maybe not.

"I bet you're a dog person, aren't you?" Yamato accused, finally detaching Robert from his peeling skin and plopping him down carefully on the ground.

"Obviously."

The guy returned to his book.

"That does make sense," Yamato mused, crossing his arms over his chest. "As to why you don't like Robert at all."

"I can see he's very lovable," came the dry reply.

"You'll hurt his feelings," Yamato pouted, reaching down to stroke Robert, who batted a paw aggressively at him.

Yamato withdrew his hand, and Roberto resumed his quest to trip his human up by purring and winding himself tightly around Yamato's ankles.

"Cats don't have feelings."

"Has anyone ever told you you're quite rude?"

"Simply truthful."

"How can you say cats don't have feelings?"

"I know it. Now move up, the line's almost gone, idiot."

Yamato had to clamp his mouth shut at the "idiot" comment, glowering in response as he shuffled sulkily forward. He'd think of something to reply with by tomorrow, or whenever he saw him next.

\--

The next time happened to be in class. And Yamato had vowed to himself he wasn't going to back out. He was going to be professional, walking up to him and delivering his witty comment flawlessly and smoothly. Everything was going to go fine. Just perfect. He was going to march up to the slouched fuckface and put him in his place.

"Wreck him," Asuma whispered to him. "My roommate's a dick."

"He's your roommate? You never told me that before."

"Never thought you needed to know. But he's an asshole."

"I kind of noticed that."

With a clap on the back and a gigantic preparatory breath, Yamato approached the guy-wait, he forgot to ask Asuma his name-and planted his feet in the ground, composing himself.

"Excuse me."

No reaction. Perhaps he simply hadn't heard him.

"Excuse me, may I talk to you for a minute?"

He got his attention-or part of it, at least-for unkempt hair was flicked back and one sharp eye gazed back at Yamato with lingering curiosity.

"Hm?"

"Cats do have feelings. I looked it up."

The man blinked, and gently tilted his head to the side. Hair was shifted some more, and Yamato got a fickle glimpse of the thin white scar piercing his other closed eyelid. Goosebumps made a swift return, flooding over his arms as he waited for the man's reply.

"...What?"

"The thing we were arguing about yesterday."

"I don't remember that."

"It was yesterday, at the café. How can you not...."

Yamato's voice failed as it gradually dawned on him the guy might be being less-than-truthful. Slightly pissed off, Yamato backed up a step when he heard a strange noise from in front of him.

"You're way too easy to mess with, kid."

A chuckle tinged his voice, and Yamato attempted to cover up his embarrassed flushing by lifting his chin further and looking him straight in the eyes-well, eye.

"Kid?"

"You're in your first year, right? That makes you a kouhai. A kid. "

"I don't appreciate you talking down to me."

"You should learn to respect your senpai."

"You should learn to act like a proper senpai," Yamato shot back, beginning to realise how to handle this guy.

"So what is a senpai supposed to act like?"

"Well..." Yamato faltered for a second, caught off guard. "Not like...you."

"Too bad," The guy hummed, snapping open his book again and resuming scanning the lines. Off-handedly, he spoke just as Yamato felt uncomfortable enough to leave.

"What's your name, kouhai?"

"It's impolite to ask for someone's name before giving your own."

"It's impolite to talk back to your senpai."

"You haven't earned the 'senpai' title yet."

He folded the book closed deliberately, staring at Yamato with a strangely intelligent gaze. Yamato bit the inside of his lip, successfully not dropping his own stare. The guy sighed, which Yamato counted as a victory.

"I'm Kakashi. Kakashi-senpai to you."

"I'm Yamato. And, frankly, there's no chance of that happening."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

Kakashi simply tilted his head at that, surveying him with an emotion impossible to identify. Distain? Curiosity? Anger? Finding himself rocking back and forwards on the balls of his feet, Yamato figured he should leave-all of his brain neurons responsible for the valuable skill of continuing conversation seemed to have been fried in the past few minutes. Returning to his book, Kakashi stayed slumped back against the wall, and the room was beginning to spill empty of students.

"You done?" Asuma asked, edging over to the duo.

"I think so," Yamato replied, wondering if he should say goodbye or not.

Then again, Kakashi didn't even acknowledge his leaving. He didn't bother.

"Any success?" Asuma inquired, once clear of the classroom, caught up in the flow of students leaving the last class of the day.

Yamato thought back over their conversation-hardly anything to analyse-but he hoped he was correct in his guess.

"Well, I think so. He asked for my name."

Asuma raised a black eyebrow, planting his arms across his chest skeptically.

"Don't expect him to remember it. I've told him mine five times already."

"Oh," Yamato pouted, thinking how odd it was that he couldn't-or wouldn't-retain his roommate's name. "That's pretty ignorant."

"And annoying," Asuma added, the grinding of teeth evident from his moving jaw. "Let's talk about something else beside him. He's not worth our breath."

"I take it that bringing up assignments is a lot cause?"

"Jesus, you talk so fucking..." Asuma vaguely waved one hand in the air, searching for the word. "Formally. Like you're always writing an essay or something. Chill."

"It's just the way I speak," Yamato said simply. "I like it."

"Whatever suits you," Asuma yawned, stretching out his arms and looking around. "Hey, I gotta go collect a book from Kurenai. I'll catch you later!"

Nodding, Yamato watched Asuma jog towards Kurenai's dorm before heading in the direction of his house. His nerves were still buzzing on high alert from his encounter with Kakashi-from warning to stay away, or anticipation, Yamato wasn't quite sure. Clamping his books tighter to his chest, Yamato shook his head, staring down at his pristine black shoes in pondering. Was there a name for this kind of almost not-there, transparent, flimsy relationship when you didn't even know how the other person felt about you? Did Kakashi even want to talk to him at all?

"Stop," Yamato ordered himself silently, hopefully preventing himself from overthinking things again.

Kakashi was an acquaintance, Yamato decided. Nothing else.

\--

The next day, it wasn't exactly busy. Yamato had only one class in the morning, and by way of chance, all of the others did too. Annoyingly, Yamato forgot to leave his phone on for the alarm, and barely made it in time for class, never mind having time to drop by the café. So instant coffee it was.

Most of the day was spent relaxing, Genma up in his room yelling angrily at whatever new video game he'd bought, Asuma attempting to flirt with Kurenai, who seemed to be softening towards him a little. Yamato mostly read and observed the others with a mixture of fascination and alarm, wondering if he was the only sane one here. He took a trip down to the garden centre that ended up being much longer than he'd hoped, but the range of herbaceous plants had really exceeded his expectations- it was bliss, sorting through all the different types, deciding which ones he'd buy, thinking of all the places he could put them, wondering if they were safe from Genma's ability to kill plants stone dead within a month. 

Yamato left with a lot more than he'd planned to buy, but also with a large grin, beaming so wide and so contentedly on the bus some people gave him odd looks. He honestly didn't care one bit. Walking back to the house, laden down happily with pots in bags, Yamato reckoned he probably should've taken the car-but the bus was cheaper at the time, and he didn't think he would buy so many. Genma, predictably, cursed profusely at him as he padded in, telling him firmly that he was definitely not going to take care of them, they were all Yamato's responsibility, that it wasn't his fault if they wilted and croaked. Yamato laughed and shot back that he was glad that Genma was going to stay away from them, or they mightn't make it a week.

Once he'd settled all his children into their new home, however, the post-afternoon slump cut in, and caffeine urges were rising.

"I'm going out for coffee," Yamato said as he paced past the trio gathered round the kitchen table playing monopoly.

"'Kay," came the chorus of regular acknowledgments.

Yamato shut the door in face of the accusing "Genma, you're cheating!" shouts-most likely true.

Whoever let Genma be the banker needs their head checked, Yamato thought with a shake of his own head, stepping out onto the sidewalk.

Sun immediately doused his sallow face in heat, comfortably warm without being hot. The air also wasn't choked up with the usual evening humidity or insect-infested fumes from passing cars-yet, in any case-which Yamato viewed as a definite good sign. Perhaps the queue at the café would be totally non-existent, and perhaps his seat wouldn't be taken, and perhaps he'd have the exact change needed for a large americano in his wallet. These pleasant thoughts in mind, Yamato offered the world a quick smile before heading in the direction of his haven.

Back at the house, monopoly was falling apart. "Falling" was putting it mildly. Due to Genma's untrustworthiness and Asuma's somehow successful tries to attract Kurenai, the actual game had been annihilated utterly. Genma was hopping onto twitter to complain about this-as he had been winning, due to just a few underhand tactics, but winning nonetheless-as Kurenai was just noticing how entrancing Asuma's deep brown eyes were, once you looked long enough to see the rare gold flecks that lit up when he smiled.

"Ooh," Genma made an interested noise, staring down at his phone.

"What is it?" Asuma asked vacantly, tracing over Kurenai's palm with a gentle finger.

"Whojamacallit just tweeted about sweet ass fight. Sadly, when the police got there they were gone. Probably got the fuck out of there if they had any sense."

"If they had any sense they wouldn't be brawling in the street," Kurenai added distractedly.

"How near here?" Asuma murmured without any real interest, meeting Kurenai's gaze.

"Ahh," Genma scrolled down further, checking. "Like...two blocks to the right? Is that west?"

"Isn't that near where Yamato goes to get coffee?"

"Yeah, and his addiction is a problem," Genma realised. "But he's just gone out, and it's already over."

"That's for the best," Asuma chuckled. "I don't think he'd last long if he got involved."

Kurenai giggled and Genma rolled his eyes, shuffling out of the room to give them some space and resisting the urge to wedge himself in between them simply out of spite.

"I need to get a girlfriend," Genma mused silently, heading to his room.

In the meantime, dragons and swords would have to do.

\---

Whistling, Yamato happily appreciated the way the sun's light slanted off the buildings, highlighting all the features he liked best. Their house was near enough to the campus, the college buildings and dorms where Kurenai and Asuma stayed, so Yamato could observe the architecture at a dwindling ramble. The main college centre was engineered beautifully, like a place of education should be, but the buildings surrounding the campus were far from ordinary too, with curved archways, domed rooftops and arms of pillars sprouting from the ground, grasping the ceiling above the steps soundly. Those were one of the most prominent things that had attracted Yamato here-it reminded him of that one time he was deployed to Bath, England. He loved that city. The assignment, not so much. But he tried to forget stuff like that, and as his gay gait increased, Yamato almost felt himself growing lighter.

"Maybe I can settle here," Yamato thought aloud, pondering under his breath.

Padding up the street, he twirled around the corner to see the barrister sweeping the street outside the cafe, glass littering the pavement. Surprised, Yamato's feet halted on their own-and then he picked up voices. Voices that sounded too nearby to be coming from the cafe, and too unmuffled to be able to coming from a building. Yamato concentrated and carefully backed up two steps to the closest gap between buildings, peeping in soundlessly.

Three people. Shadowed in the darkened spaces hidden from the light, Yamato had to squint to make out the situation properly. Vague grunting came from the alleyway, and hushed, annoyed whispering from the two very differently shaped men on their feet. Someone else of a slender build was on the ground, folded up into a defensive, curled-up ball. Yamato's nails bit into his palms as the situation smashed into him, choices immediately spinning around his mind. As he observed, another kick was delivered to the indistinguishable form in the dirt, who barely convulsed, a tiny groan emerging. Yamato wasn't quite sure, but he thought he smelt blood. It wasn't a smell one could forget easily. It sent his temples pounding, his mind throbbing as he forcefully shoved the recollections back and focused on the choice at hand. He withdrew, safely out of sight of the brutes. 

One, he could walk away and call the police, but he knew the nearest station was quite a distance away and from the barely-there reactions of the person on the ground, it was doubtful they'd make it time. People generally underestimated how fragile humans were, and it wasn't unheard of for an accidental murder at what was supposed to be a simple punch-up. One hit in the right place and it could be the end.

Two, he could step in. And possibly ruin the meticulously constructed cover he'd achieved. But if he did that-Yamato heard another solid smack, accompanied by a groan and he knew he couldn't dither around any longer.

"Wake up. We're not yet done with you."

The smooth, calm voice sent suppressed shivers down Yamato's spine, and he rested the back of his head against the wall, blowing out a deep breath, and turned the corner. Quickly taking stock of the situation-one figure gracefully leaning against one wall while the other was raising his fist to hit the victim, trapped and slumped into their clothing encased by the fist-and opened his mouth. Before he could speak, one-shoving the form onto the ground again-spat at him threateningly.

"Get the fuck away."

The form underneath the thickest shadows turned their head towards Yamato. Their focus was now entirely on the random guy who walked in. Him. Yamato rapidly took in their stances-braced, prepared and aggressive, as one would expect, with their chins raised up high and legs planted far apart in a challenge. Relaxing, Yamato noted the knife by the nicely-dressed shadowy man's side and spoke politely.

"It would be best if you left them alone."

Yamato couldn't take his gaze off the two men for a second-he really wanted to check if he knew the person on the ground, but doing so he would sign his own death warrant. He couldn't break the staring for a millisecond or he'd appear weak. Faces were almost impossible to make out, the rapidly dripping sunlight didn't light up the space at all, but Yamato hoped he was staring them in the eyes. The buff one took another step forward, thrusting out a fist at Yamato.

"If you don't walk away now, you'll be wheeled away in a hearse. This isn't your fucking business."

"You didn't see anything," the one in the corner added slyly. "We'll make sure nothing....unfortunate happens to you."

Letting his tiny smile edge his lips upwards, Yamato calmly closed his eyes and completely shattered the steady stare-down. The enthusiastic shout came sooner than he'd expected, accompanying a flurry of eager footsteps.

"You wanna die already?! I'll grant your wish!"

Neck cracking sideways, Yamato swiftly evaded the first botched punch attempt-credit to the large man, he'd moved quite quickly-and, unruffled, opened his dark eyes again. His short smile vanished as he ducked down under the head hook, driving himself up and sideways then smashing a fist against his jaw, soundly pummelling him into the wall. Yamato kept a careful eye on the other, unmoving figure by the wall, taking on the grunt first. The guy was disorientated badly by the blow, drunkenly swinging a half-assed punch back at Yamato. The thug's fighting style was aggressive and rough-not nearly enough skill to even attack without openings-as Yamato observed as he dropped below the hook, whirling a foot straight into the front of his kneecap with a jittering snap. Screaming, the man folded like a domino being pushed over as his knee physically bent backwards, shattered bone jarring against bones, tearing muscle shuddering against tendons and blood drenching through his pants.

"I must be getting rusty," Yamato muttered unhappily under his breath. He didn't mean to do so much damage;especially since the man's scream would draw attention.

Clapping from the other end of the alleyway yanked him out of his thoughts, Yamato instantly back on alert. The other man stepped out of the darkness, smoke curling from his mouth as he spoke, cigar in hand.

"I probably would've killed him eventually, if he wasn't so damn hard to kill. But that was impressive."

He configured his lips and chucked the cigar onto the ground, grinding it slowly with the ball of his foot, coated in fancy shoes. Then he raised his face up, staring down Yamato as a unnervingly broad grin slit his face open.

"How much are you worth, I wonder?"

A second of pure silence.

"I don't understand," Yamato said flatly.

Was this guy going to fight him or talk? His grin spread wider like bacteria multiplying on his face.

"Hidan, we're finished here. Come."

"I haven't killed this bastard yet," the one named Hidan growled violently, clutching at his disembodied knee. "We aIN’T FINISHED HERE UNTIL HIS FUCKING HEAD IS ROLLING AROUND ON THE FLOOR!"

Unexpectedly, Hidan flung himself at Yamato, producing a three-tiered blade and slashing diagonally at him. Staggering, Hidan snapped forward angrily and attacked again, even though Yamato had the clear advantage of mobility and speed and was avoiding all of his laughing murder tries. His screams had turned to alternating moaning and laughing, somehow still moving with blood saturating all of his leg from the knee downwards. Yamato could tell he'd broken it and it must hurt like hell-how could he stand to move, let alone become faster?

"Hidan. You'll get your chance later for revenge. Remember what the Boss said," The other man puffed, another cigar already at his lips.

"I don't care," Hidan yelled back, not letting up at all. "You don't get it, Kakuzu. The thrill of finally fulfilling a grudge...it's incredible, the feeling of the blood of your hated lapping around your feet!"

Yamato barely saw his next invigorated stab, but luckily his instincts kicked in at full throttle and he twisted past the blade. Skimming his side, Hidan laughed-no, cackled insanely out loud, his flaring eyes more disturbing than Kakuzu's greasy, stringy black hair. Yamato spotted red dots on his sheared shirt and cursed, picking up a bin lid and using it to defend against the knife. He couldn't understand it-why was Hidan now bolting easily around him, as if pain had no hold over him? Yamato could only barely keep up defending now...

"That's enough."

Hidan froze. Yamato paused at the new voice, searching for its source. Then he followed Hidan's simmering gaze upwards, and found himself observing a figure silhouetted against the glaring sun. On the roof.

"Withdraw immediately."

Yamato squinted, trying to make our any features at all, or even their gender. Nothing. A glint, and then the figure withdrew over the rooftop, out of Yamato's line of sight. Once he'd lowered his gaze to ground level, Hidan and Kakuzu were gone too. The only person left was-

"It's you?!"

What was he saying? Of course it was him. Yamato tossed the bin lid aside, scrabbling down on his knees while recognising the stupidly styled hair. Kakashi's face rose a few inches off the concrete with a deep groan, eye half open and barely focusing on Yamato. Blood dribbling into his eye, Kakashi blinked hazily and tried to gather his splayed arms back to his body.

"Ya..m.."

"Don't speak. You're bleeding from your head and that's not good. I'm calling an ambul-"

"No."

Yamato was cut off by Kakashi's hand landing heavily on his phone, covering it weakly, but desperately. Yamato glanced up in confusion and his eyes widened at Kakashi's panicked expression.

"Why don't you want an ambulance? You need to go to hospital. You're injured, and badly. I'll ask why those men were beating you up later, but right now you need medical attention."

Yamato peeled Kakashi's body up from the ground, taking careful note of his winces and where hurt him in particular. Curling one arm around his torso, Yamato bent one leg and rose up with Kakashi, the extra weight making him stoop over. Kakashi weakly tapped his arm, eye wide in an obvious plea. Yamato's mouth tightened and he sighed, lowering his head. It was hard to ignore a genuine request from an injured person-and Kakashi's expression made it clear of the authenticity. Either that, or he was an excellent actor.

"So you don't want to go to hospital? At all?"

"I can't..." came his dejected answer.

Yamato's stinging side began becoming more painfully acute, making him aware of the shallow cut as adrenaline wore off. Shrugging the minor injury aside, he frowned at Kakashi, worryingly weak slumped against him. He doubted he could even lift a limp limb on his own, let alone recover and crawl his way back home on his own. And the constant trickle of crimson trailing down the side of his nose didn't help Yamato's concerns.

"That's bullshit. Without professional help you'll be...well, I don't want to find out."

Kakashi wilted faster than a flower pumped full of weed killer. His fingers dug into Yamato's shoulder, clutching onto him tightly as he spoke. Yamato saw skimmed, raw knuckles out of the corner of his eye.

"I've survived worse."

"Sure..." Yamato answered dubiously.

"Leave me here."

"I couldn't do that," Yamato replied immediately. "What type of person would leave someone bleeding in an alleyway?"

"What type of person would take on two gang members to save a stranger?"

Yamato let out a tiny, canned chuckle, setting Kakashi down again in a sitting position. He wasn't going to needlessly support Kakashi if they weren't going anywhere soon.

"You have a point."

"There aren't any people like that," Kakashi murmured quietly, almost just to himself.

His palm melted off Yamato's shoulder, wincing as he covered his aching body with his arms hesitantly, curling up defensively with his knees to his chest. Yamato observed him silently, wondering what to do. Luckily, there weren't too many people at the streets at this time-most were at home, having dinner or watching tv or whatever, not getting coffee down a small cul-de-sac. Kakashi seemed less dazed than he did when Yamato had first found him, but there was still that bloody head wound-hidden under the hair, Yamato couldn't even evaluate how serious it was. He also didn't know if the dark patches on Kakashi's already dark clothes were from his head or other injuries, who knew how bad. Bruises were already forming along his upper cheeks, and Yamato suspected-no, knew that there were others masked by Kakashi's very exuberant clothing. Not that he'd ever admit it. Sighing, Yamato brushed his hair back from his face, pondering over if he should simply dismiss Kakashi's request and take him to the hospital. It wasn't as if he could resist-much, anyway.

"Why can't you go to the hospital?"

Kakashi's battered face turned away, split eyebrows drawing together in thought. Yamato waited for a few seconds, then spoke firmly.

"We can't wait here forever. Either you tell me why you 'can't' go to the hospital or we're going to the hospital."

"They'd know I was there."

Kakashi's voice was low and cautious, as if somebody was listening in, watching them through walls, deciding on which punishment to deal out.

"So?"

"Then...the next time will be worse."

"This has happened before? Why are they doing this to you? And who are 'they', anyway?"

Kakashi flinched quickly-as if it was instinctive, but he instantly tried to mask it over by scratching the back of his head. He swayed a bit and didn't seem to notice, reminding Yamato of his injury and that he needed treatment-fast. He didn't have time to drag answers out of a less-than-forthcoming Kakashi.

"Alright, we're going," Yamato declared, shivering a little as evening cold began to seep through his light clothing.

Kakashi's head snapped up awkwardly and he tried to get to his feet, but his legs fell beneath him. Yamato caught him deftly, roping an arm around his waist-very cautiously, as he could feel uneven, broken ribs beneath his palm,shaking his head and scanning Kakashi's crumpled body again. His left arm was dangling at an odd angle too...

"Don't worry. We're not going to the hospital. I believe you have a good reason to want to avoid it-but I expect to hear it when we get back to my place."

Kakashi nodded mutely, but Yamato saw clear gratitude shining out of one grey, hooded eye. He gave him a short smile to reassure him, and began the haul back to his rented house.

\--

"Yamato, if you've brought in another stray cat I swear I'll-"

Genma cut off abruptly, staring at the two exhausted, dripping wet men standing in the hallway.

"Hi."

Kakashi raised his free hand in an awkward greeting.

"Yamato, what the fuck? Isn't he-"

"Please, leave the questions until later," Yamato interrupted, shuffling forward with Kakashi draped against his side.

"Why are you two fucking wet?" Genma asked, following them into the living room.

"It started raining," Yamato replied, pushing some magazines off the couch onto the floor and deliberately lowering Kakashi down lengthways.

"And why is he here?"

"Kind of a long story, most of which I don't know myself," Yamato answered, glancing pointedly at Kakashi, settling down into the sofa with withheld grunts of pain. "Genma, isn't your ex-girlfriend or whatever a medical student?"

"Yes, but why-oh," Genma gradually, finally noticed Kakashi's scuffed, torn clothes, bashed-up face (of what you could see of it) and the fresh blood staining skin and clothing alike. "What the fuck happened?"

"Can you please say a rational sentence without 'fuck' in it?" Yamato asked, turning back to him with a blank expression.

Genma's eyes dropped to Yamato's palm pressed against his side, spotting drops of blood in places that Kakashi's blood couldn't have reached showing between his fingers.

"Yamato, you're injured too..."

"Kakashi needs help more urgently," Yamato said, brushing him off coldly. "It's only a scratch."

"Why aren't you two at the hospital?!"

Yamato glanced down swiftly at a silent, almost guiltily silent, Kakashi.

"That's what I'd like to know. But first, Genma, can you call...ah, what's her name?"

"Fuck, I can't remember," Genma hissed, yanking out his phone hurriedly and hastily scanning through the contacts."No, no, no, not her, shit...wait...Shizune! That's the bitch that turned gay after I dumped her."

"From what I heard, she dumped you," Yamato hid his comment under his muttering breath, before shooting a glance back at a...dazed Kakashi? "Kakashi, how are you doing?"

"I'm fine."

"You'd probably say that if your neck was sawed through halfway," Yamato rolled his eyes, knowing to take his words with less than a pinch of salt. "Genma, are you getting through?"

"Fuck, why don't you make the call? She won't bloody pick up if she sees it's me."

"Fine."

Yamato tugged out his own phone-cheap model but efficient-and inputted Shizune's number rapidly, impatiently waiting as the rings seemed to echo slower than usual. Finally, someone picked up, and a swift explanation later from Yamato and a quick discussion on the other end, help seemed to be on the way.

"They're coming," Yamato breathed out in relief, hanging up.

"They?"

"She mentioned bringing extra help. Someone more experienced."

Genma squinted suspiciously, obviously thinking overly hard as to who it could be. Yamato completely overlooked his strange facial expressions and knelt down by Kakashi's side, surveying him cautiously.

"Do you want to inform me as to why two assholes were beating you up now?"

"They-" Kakashi started, but broke off into a shuddering cough, one that wracked his entire body in juddering shakes.

Sucking in his lower lip worriedly, Yamato tried to ignore the fact that he'd heard that sound many times before, that he knew it wasn't an ordinary dry or chesty cough (more like a wet one) ignoring how he knew it was the sound of Kakashi coughing up blood. A hand rose and wiped underneath his bandana, coming away splattered with crimson smears, confirming Yamato's notion. Not that he'd ever really doubted it-he'd just rather hold onto hope that Kakashi's injuries weren't as serious as he estimated they were. 

It would've been so much less trouble to abandon Kakashi in the alleyway, but sadly Yamato knew that if he'd left him there, Kakashi's survival was far from certain. Yamato had created some new moral rules for himself-ones he'd never had before-and he was determined to stick to them. At the very least, he was adamant to help, absolutely determined not to have his conscience laden down with another death he could've stopped. Kakashi's breathing steadied again, and he lowered his face, gazing blankly at the floor beside Yamato's crouched legs.

"I suppose I owe you some explanations."

"Yes. You do."

Kakashi's eyes squeezed tightly shut, as if it almost cost him physically as well as mentally to reveal information.

"They're doing it to intimidate me. A show of their strength."

"Intimate you into what?"

"I can't tell you that."

Yamato was about to press him further when there was a withheld knock on the door. Followed promptly with an immense pounding so loud Yamato feared for the structural soundness of the door.

"Coming!" Genma yelled out, scampering down the hallway.

There was a click as the door opened, followed by the more rapid clicking of heels on the floorboards. Yamato rose, unsure as what to expect. What he got was a busty, blonde woman practically punching the poor door out of her way as she strode into the room confidently, accompanied by a shyer, black-haired, cute, younger-looking girl. Genma slinked in grumpily behind them, gesturing at the blonde with mad hand signals Yamato could never figure out in a million years, let alone the two seconds it took for the women to reach him.

"Hello, are-" Yamato began, then she simply passed by him without a glance.

Slightly shocked, Yamato turned around to see her bending over Kakashi's shattered body, eyebrows tensely drawn together.

"Excuse us, but he doesn't look like he's got time for small talk," The raven-haired one addressed Yamato respectfully, then joined the other at Kakashi's side.

Trotting up to Yamato, Genma leaned in, whispering, "The cute one's Shizune. The other is her girlfriend, I think. Her fucking medical lecturer, although I'm pretty sure she's only a few years older. Doesn't compare to me though."

Yamato didn't reply, watching Shizune and her girlfriend strip down Kakashi's clothing to inspect the damage, despite adamant protests from the patient himself. The girlfriend didn't seem to indulge any of Kakashi's shit however, and told him, in a tone which sounded like an order, to shut up and accept their help, that he mightn't heal right if not attended to properly. Kakashi's modesty was quickly cut back to his bandana and just a pair of plain black boxers, and honestly Yamato felt himself getting satisfaction out of how he squirmed in mild discomfort. 

However, that feeling soon was shattered apart. Yamato's expression darkened as he took in the bruises scattered profusely over Kakashi's ribs, the blood dripping slowly down onto his sharp collarbones from the head wound, countless other scratches and purple, obviously well-established bruises covering his whole body, from his back to his legs. The particularly nasty ones were dotted on his stomach and sides, black bruises overlapping older, bluish-purple, speckled ones. Kakashi's chest hitched with every breath, every exhale and inhale not quite as smooth as it should be. It was obvious now that he was shirtless- all three layers lay crumpled on the floor-but easy to overlook with loose clothing.

"At least three broken ribs," Shizune murmured, palms pressing lightly on his lower chest.

"Five," Her girlfriend declared, laying a hand beside hers. "Three on this side, two on the other. What the hell were you doing? And how long has it been going on? Some bruises are more than a week old already."

"Nothing."

"You don't get five broken ribs from doing nothing."

"I fell out of bed and landed on a stack of books."

"Bullshit."

"I like to think of it as a convenient truth."

"Kakashi," Yamato warned. "If you won't tell them, I will."

"That's blackmail," Kakashi complained weakly, but his heart wasn't quite in it. He buckled.

"I was in a fight."

"Fights, from the looks of it," she corrected, skimming her hands lightly over his left shoulder. "Can you touch your opposite shoulder?"

Kakashi tried to, reaching his arm across his body, but only made it as far as his right breast before flinching horribly, inhaling sharply. Tsunade nodded.

"Anterior dislocation. Must've been quite a fight."

Attempting not to wince, Kakashi nodded, gulping hard as she carefully felt up along his left arm with a frown. She began to prod at certain spots, watching Kakashi's eyes deliberately as they creased up in muffled pain.

"Looks like you've got a fractured, perhaps broken, radius too."

"Tsunade, he's been coughing up blood," Shizune added, gesturing to the smear of blood just about visible on his neck. "And definitely a concussion from that head injury, but I can't tell how bad. Added to what we know already, that seems to be the extent of the physical injuries."

"Good job. Shizune, come and help me with his shoulder."

Tsunade and Shizune both took hold of Kakashi's fractured left arm, placing one palm down on his shoulder.

"This will hurt," Tsunade informed him.

Grasping his lower arm, they rotated it outwards gradually, moving the upper arm forward carefully. Yamato got the feeling that the duo knew what they were doing, and it made him feel just a little bit more relaxed. Then again, he wasn't the one getting his shoulder put back into its socket. 

Tsunade pushed the lower arm back towards his chest very slowly, Shizune holding the upper arm in place to help move the shoulder back into the correct position. Abruptly, Kakashi let out a loud cry, his body convulsing agonisingly in a high arc off the couch. Yamato stepped forward, but one look from Tsunade had him backing off again. Eyes screwed shut and downturned eyebrows trembling badly, Kakashi bit down hard on the inside of his bandana, restraining his yelps to low groans and grunts. Then it was over, one shallow pop and a heavy intake of breath from Kakashi indicating that his shoulder was back where it belonged. Shizune massaged his shoulder gently, checking once again that it was correctly back in place.

"Fuck..." Kakashi breathed out, weighed down with pain, but it was subsiding.

Genma watched a wide-eyed, clear blue gaze, eyebrows raised in a sightly show of being impressed.

"Yamato, never, ever let me dislocate my shoulder. And if I do, don't let those two fucking treat me."

"Sure," Yamato agreed somehow distractedly, focused on observing the two doctors at work.

Shizune had produced bandages from somewhere within her loose, casual clothing, and both were busy wrapping up Kakashi's arm and shoulder into a sling. His ribs were also bandaged very lightly, and a white strip was placed around his head, preventing any more bleeding. The bruises, they had to heal on their own, with time.

“I’m sure you’re aware that drug use can lead to a haemorrhage,” Tsunade squinted at him skeptically.

Kakashi simply stared back at her stonily, which didn’t stop Tsunade barrelling onwards with instructions.

"Sling, for the next three weeks," Tsunade commanded, straightening up with her fists planted on her wide hips. "You appear to have only a light concussion, but you need to go to somewhere they have equipment to check that you don't have anything more serious, just to be sure and do not get into any more punch-ups, or one of your broken ribs could puncture one of your lungs before they heal completely."

"Okay," Kakashi nodded, but his gaze was detached and distant. Yamato doubted he heard anything Tsunade advised, let alone recall and follow it.

"Is that all?" Tsunade snapped around to Yamato, her commandeering aura now concentrated on him.

"Yes. Thank you," Yamato replied, feeling oddly at ease now that Kakashi's injuries were taken care of. Well, sort of.

"It's not," Shizune chipped in, appearing by Tsunade's side and motioning to Yamato's hand unconsciously pressed over his cut.

"Oh, I'd forgotten about that," Yamato blinked, taking away his hand. "It's shallow, not anything major-hey!"

Tsunade had stepped forward and yanked his shirt upwards, so much so that he couldn't see her inspecting his wound with narrowed eyes.

"Shizune, is that..."

"Looks like it," Shizune confirmed. "Yamato, are you feeling dizzy in any way, numb, or paralysed in places?"

"No," Yamato answered honestly, trying to pull his shirt back down again. "Why?"

"It really looks like poison around the edges of the cut. There's-"

"Don't worry about it," Yamato's automatic thought was passing his lips before he knew it, greeted by four incredulous stares.

"You're fucking poisoned, and all you say is 'don't worry about it?'!" Genma exclaimed, speaking aloud the comment that all present were thinking. 

Bar one, of course.

"Well..." Yamato bit his lip, wondering how to explain to them that Danzo's training included limited exposure to all poisons and toxins known-it had taken years-and the result was..."I'm immune to all poisons."

"What?"

"Oh, I used to get bitten by snakes a lot when I was younger, so my parents got me anti-venom to a wide range of toxic snakes, and they decided to increase that to all of them, just in case."

Tsunade straightened up, letting go of Yamato's shirt, which fell once again and hid his oozing cut. She gave him a disbelieving stare, and he really wished he had more time to come up with a more believable excuse. As far as he knew, there weren't any poisonous snakes around here...not that he could've passed for a native anyway.

"Dude. Seriously? Talk about over-protective," Genma laughed, slinging an arm around Yamato's unsuspecting shoulders. "Useful this time though!"

"My parents were cautious people," Yamato smiled, unsure if Genma actually believed him or was simply choosing to play along. It would increase the story's credibility if it had a backer nonetheless.

Tsunade's interest on caring ran out at that point, thankfully, and she waved one dismissive hand in the air.

"The reason doesn't matter. You're most likely poisoned, and I'd advise you to get to a hospital as soon as possible, despite you thinking you're fine. It may be slow-acting, and you just haven't felt the effects yet. Doesn't mean it's not there."

"I'll get to the hospital soon," Yamato insisted, the lie sliding smoothly off his tongue. "But I think it'll be alright."

"It isn't my business if you live or die," Tsunade turned around again, staring at Yamato and Genma, both at the same time somehow. "He can't stay there."

"Why not?" Yamato asked, eying the slender man on the even more slender couch.

"If he turns over onto his other side and falls off, I'm not relocating his shoulder again."

"I see..." Yamato scratched his temple, observing the resting Kakashi, who was either asleep or pretending to be. "Genma, don't you have a spare bed in your-"

"Hell no," Genma interrupted sharply. "You brought him here, he's your responsibility, put him in your fucking spare bed."

"Does it really matter which room he stays in?"

"I don't know that guy. I'm not sleeping with a stranger in my room."

Sighing in surrender, Yamato padded over to Kakashi's side, grimacing at the prospect of hauling his asleep ass upstairs.

"Be careful with his shoulder," Shizune instructed, appearing by his side. "Support him like this."

She demonstrated a hold on Yamato suitable for helping an invalid without stressing his shoulder any further. Yamato nodded, memorising where her arms were and his position also.

"He'll have to walk himself a bit too," Shizune untangled herself from Yamato, looking pointedly over at Tsunade, seeming to have a quick mental conversation.

Tsunade strode over to Kakashi also, moving Yamato out of her way as she leaned over him and patted his cheek sharply. It wasn't exactly hard enough to qualify as a slap, but firm enough to do the job. Kakashi's eyelids flickered briefly, then he flinched when the pain fired back from the waning unconscious side, one sooty eye blearily gaping at all of them.

"Get up."

Kakashi began to sit up, Yamato swooping in when he buckled, shivering under his touch. Tsunade barked to Genma to fetch him some clothes, because they couldn't possibly put those "filthy, torn rags unfit for dogs," back on him. Genma scampered off as Kakashi gradually awakened further, groaning and realising where he was again.

"Can't you let me sleep?"

"Doctors' orders," Yamato replied, one hand coiled in support around his waist and lugging him to his unsteady feet. "Got to move you to a proper bed."

"Then I can get home by myself."

"Not in this condition."

"Don't you even try it," Tsunade backed up Yamato, levelling Kakashi with a stern gaze. "Stay in bed until you've healed completely. If you move prematurely you'll never fully recover your strength."

Kakashi's response was a distorted, indistinct grunt, shuffling across the room with Yamato. (Shizune looked like she wanted to help, but with another person on the other side his shoulder would be at risk.)

"We'll be going then," Tsunade notified the rest. "I have other things to do."

"Thank you, both of you, for helping," Yamato said gratefully, earning a satisfied nod from Tsunade and a smile from Shizune.

"Take care of yourselves," Shizune waved, following Tsunade out the door.

"We will," Yamato called after her, then turned his attention back to Kakashi's pouting face. With three gone, the room felt empty, bigger somehow and quieter, with only two breathing in the relatively same space.

"Come on. Let's get you upstairs."

"Right..."

After a considerable and sizeable struggle, with an abundance of cusses flying past Kakashi's lips, they made it upstairs, where Genma was waiting with some clothing, thankfully. Kakashi's damp skin was much too hot under Yamato's fingertips, almost feverish, yet he also kept shivering constantly in his grasp. With Genma's reluctant assistance and with mouthy protests from Kakashi, he was dressed again, (in Yamato's clothes, of course. Genma wouldn't lend any of his "edgy" clothing away, although that was probably a blessing for Kakashi) and was slipped neatly into the spare bed, opposite Yamato's own one across the room.

He quickly sunk under the covers, a miniscule, almost inaudible grunt of "thanks" emerging. He didn't sound very thankful, but Yamato shrugged it off and went to cook dinner. (Kakashi refused any sustenance.) Genma grumbled all through the meal, which Yamato deftly blocked out, giving an acknowledging nod every now and then, diving into his own thoughts instead.

Why was Kakashi getting constantly picked on-no, not just picked on like a schoolyard bullying, but physically abused to the point where he sustains broken bones and a dislocated shoulder? Kakashi had mentioned that they were attempting to intimidate- little bit of a weak word for what they were doing, in Yamato's opinion-him, but into what? A drug mule? Why not use someone else, less conspicuous then? Joining them? Why the hell would they want with a sarcastic, cat-hating- Yamato clanked his fork down on his empty plate in frustration, a little louder than he'd intended. Genma's eyes surveying him carefully, Yamato evaded his questioning stare and clattered his dish down in the sink.

"I cooked. You do the wash-up."

"Yamato, are you oka-"

"I'm fine," Yamato replied back, perhaps a bit too sharply to be believable.

Genma slid down off his seat, dumping his dish in the sink beside Yamato.

"Look, if he's bothering you, I can put him in my spare bed. And I can sleep in yours. How does that sound?"

"Thanks, but it's okay," Yamato answered, a little taken aback by the offer. "Moving him again would be irritating."

"Alright," Genma offered him a grin, clapping him on the back. "Any trouble, just call me. I'll probably be awake all night gaming anyway."

"Thanks, but I don't think he's in any position to make trouble," Yamato called back, exiting the kitchen with a grin.

"Remember to draw a few dicks on his face," came Genma's faint voice.

Snorting, Yamato hiked upstairs, just noticing now how damn tired he was. Maybe he'd go straight into bed, but read for a few hours and see at what point he fell asleep. Yeah, that sounded good. He just had to pretend there wasn't a beaten-up acquaintance in there with him. He was drained enough, he could manage that.

It worked for about two hours, right up to when Yamato's eyelids were falling shut of their own accord, and when he was just snuggling down into the duvet further with the hardcore intention to sleep.

Kakashi's low voice drifted across the space of soundlessness between them easily.

"Yamato?"

"Yes?"

"Who are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"The way you expertly took down Hidan, your taste in cafe chairs, they way you handled my situation...it doesn't add up to...you. This you."

"You're not as dopey as you look," Yamato smiled in the dark. "But do not tell anyone about that fight. I found you alone in the alleyway. That's all."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Why were those thugs beating you up?"

Kakashi fell mute.

"You didn't answer mine. Goodnight."

With that, Yamato shut his eyes and dozed off gratefully.


	2. Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nights are dark, but how dark it is depends on the person.

When Yamato woke, Kakashi's breathing was silent.  
Because he wasn't there anymore.  
Yamato didn't notice this fact at first (he'd woken from every night with nobody in that bed since he'd come here, after all) and was quite spooked by the dishevelled sheets splayed over the opposite bed before the events of yesterday hit his consciousness.  
"Idiot," Yamato grumbled sleepily, scooping some sleep out of his eyes with an idle finger. "He wasn't supposed to move-"  
Swinging his feet down out of the bed, Yamato felt something that definitely wasn't the floor beneath his soles, warmth with shifting skin underneath folds of clothes. Luckily, he hadn't placed any notable weight on his feet yet, so Yamato sat on the edge of his bed, blinking in quiet surprise, staring down at the person under his feet.  
There were barely two paces between the two beds in the confined room, little to walk when one was awake but quite a distance to roll while firmly asleep. Kakashi's steady breathing testified to that, the side of his covered face mushed to the floor, one free arm protruding diagonally out from underneath him and his bare legs splayed out in a scissors-like form. Spotting his pants-thank god Kakashi's boxers were still in place, Yamato didn't think he could handle that particular sight so early-close to the opposite bed, Yamato could only wonder how he managed to topple out of bed, lose his pants and settle right beside Yamato's bed along the entire length. While sleeping soundly, apparently. Yamato shifted sideways, reaching out with one dubious toe to prod at Kakashi's cheek.  
"Hey. Wake up."  
Kakashi's long-suffering groan sadly wasn't enough to convince Yamato to leave him alone, and he gave him another sharp poke.  
"You're lying on your fractured arm. You need to get up before you damage it further."  
"Fuck off..."  
Kakashi’s voice was slurred, slow and very irritated. Obviously a morning person.  
"I'll step on you if you don't move. I need to walk there. Also, put some pants on."  
Kakashi's response was, predictably, another stifled grunt. No attempt was made at moving, although the fingers of his right hand twitched an impressive amount. Eyeing Kakashi's still body, from his unsightly toenails with spider-web-like cracks, to his unkempt grey hair billowing everywhere, Yamato tried to pick out the best spot to step over him. He chose the lower torso (the legs would be too awkward) and outstretched one cautious leg, turning his right foot to lay it near Kakashi's right side. He kept an eye on Kakashi’s face as he raised his left foot over his back, worried that he'd squirm around again and knock Yamato over.  
Although, he kept too close an eye on Kakashi and not enough of one on where his foot was going. He didn't notice the shirt ridden up Kakashi's lower back until his toe was tangled in the creases, and he'd already put too much motion into the action to draw it back, and then oh god no he was tipping over. Just like that, Yamato's feet flew out from under him and he pitched forwards, managing to avoid stomping on Kakashi's lower back but instead flopping sideways onto it , his legs diving back under his bed.  
A jolt of pain rocked through Yamato as his temple bashed against the floor. Letting out a groan, Yamato raised his hands to his head, checking for blood and waiting for the slight dizziness to pass before twisting into a more comfort position.  
Yamato turned onto his front, the curve of Kakashi's back accommodating his stomach quite comfortably. Sighing, he rested his forehead against the cold wooden floor. He could already tell today wasn't going to go well. Glancing up to see if Kakashi had even reacted, he saw the door swing open and inwardly cursed.  
"Wow, Yamato, you work fast," Genma commented smoothly, eyebrow raised at the two piled on top of each other.  
"This is not my fault," Yamato insisted, finally propping himself up and scrambling off Kakashi. "He was there, and wouldn't move, and I tripped because of the shirt..."  
"Just get his damn pants back on. I've no desire to see such hairy legs again. Oh, Asuma and Kurenai are downstairs making breakfast because the cooker on campus is banjaxed, so hurry up or I'll eat your share."  
"Sure," Yamato acknowledged, straightening up, but Genma had already shut the door again.  
Then it opened again, and Genma's grinning face popped through.  
"Remember to always use a condom, kids."  
"Oh, fuck off," Yamato snatched up the nearest thing he could find-Kakashi's discarded pants-and flung it at the door, but it splattered on wood harmlessly, Genma no doubt grinning like an idiot on the other side.  
Yamato rolled his eyes, looking down at the presumably clinically deceased Kakashi on the floor, motionless.  
"Kakashi. Wake UP."  
No audible reply. At this point, Yamato feel at least a little obliged to crouch down and place two fingers against his throat to check if he was still alive. The instant his hand approached anywhere near the underside of the still-secure bandana, Kakashi's eye widened immediately and jerked away quickly.  
"Good, you're alive," Yamato stood up again, frowning down at Kakashi.  
"Ah..." Kakashi retracted his legs underneath him and sat up, gripping his injured arm. (which he was lying on, no wonder it was hurting)  
Yamato stepped past him (no problems this time) and scooped up his pants, chucking them at Kakashi's face.  
"Put these on. And get back into bed."  
Disappointingly, Kakashi caught the pants before they hit his face, lazily gazing up at Yamato with his one good eye.  
"Good morning to you too."  
Yamato wasn't quite certain what had happened to make him to skip over the basic politeness (something he was a master of, if he said so himself) but he had surprised himself. And disappointed, too.  
"Good morning," Yamato replied, reckoning it was the fact he had to try and manoeuvre around Kakashi's sleeping body that he had forgotten. "I see you're awake now."  
"You don't say."  
The sarcasm was dry and obvious. Yamato felt himself wince slightly inwardly at his failure at small talk, then redeemed himself mentally by recalling what an idiot Kakashi was in comparison. An idiot, but sadly an idiot with a slick, sickeningly sly way with words. In the time Yamato had taken to have that brief, hopefully silent monologue, Kakashi had dragged himself across two paces to the other bed and emptily collapsed on his back.  
Yamato watched him stare, spaced-out, at the ceiling, ruffling some of his hair sticking out over his forehead, thinking. Was he going to stay here? Yamato really didn't fancy cooking for another person, unless they did their turn, which an injured person could not. Kakashi inclined his head to the side, catching Yamato's stare with his usual sharp vacancy.  
"Don't you need to get dressed?"  
Yamato's gaze snapped down to himself, dressed in a simple, loose t-shirt and just boxers. Then, in a welcome addition, he also remembered about breakfast. Somehow, having a smartass acquaintance in his bedroom distracted him.  
"Don't you need..." Yamato fought for a smart comeback. "To pee?"  
Kakashi stared at him blankly for a moment, then sat up and eased himself back off the sheets.  
"How did you know?"  
Yamato turned his back, rooting through the closets at the end of the rectangular room. Praying that his embarrassment wasn't as evident to Kakashi as it was to him, his ears reddened just a slightly darker tint.  
"Lucky guess, I suppose. The bathroom is the second on you right. Don't go into the first-that's Genma's, and he'll kill you."  
"I'm already halfway there," Kakashi shrugged painfully, lifting his slinged arm.  
"I didn't drag you all the way here for you to be murdered by Genma," Yamato answered swiftly, a bundle of clothes in his hands. "Now go, please. I need to change."  
"Bossy," Kakashi grumbled loudly as he sleepily shuffled out the door.  
Sighing, Yamato felt a huge amount of strain leave his shoulders as Kakashi went-he was never one for being excessively around people, and this was draining him. Especially trying to keep up with someone like Kakashi, who just seemed determined to make every conversation non-existent, a guessing game or ridiculously hard and complex. Yamato hadn't quite seen the last example yet, but he knew it was coming.  
Yamato changed quickly into a plain maroon t-shirt and jeans, hopping downstairs as soon as he was done making his bed (with only one irritated glance at Kakashi's amazingly straggled sheets, tangled up together in a intricate piece of modern art) and stepped into the kitchen. A blast of heat hit his face, and he almost suffocated with the smoke before racing to the window, throwing it open, coughing shallowly.  
"Sorry," Asuma chuckled, wielding a dangerously black-looking frying pan in his large hand. "I accidentally overcooked the first lot, so I'm trying again-with no distractions this time."  
As Yamato was puffing out the window, grateful for fresh air, Asuma shot Genma a glare, whose gaze flickered up from his phone innocently.  
"Hm? Oh dear, who would distract you? That's a horrible thing to do."  
"It's your breakfast too," Asuma reminded him, brown eyes creasing up at an idea. "Or maybe not. I think I burnt your share."  
"What a shame," Kurenai chipped in, sashaying into the kitchen with packets of bacon, sausages and eggs expertly balanced in her mere two hands.  
She shimmed them off her arms onto the table in the middle of the island-setup kitchen, raising an eyebrow at Yamato gulping down air, leaning over the sink to reach.  
"Here, more supplies."  
"Thanks," Asuma stepped over, presumably to give her a hug, but she quickly ducked underneath him and stood by Yamato in confusion.  
"Are you okay?"  
"He's weak," Genma explained in his own unique charming way. "Can't stand the heat, get out of the bloody kitchen."  
"There was a lot of smoke," Yamato offered as an explanation, stepping back from the window.  
Kurenai tilted her head sideways, black hair tossed up into a bun, but some strands were loose, causing her to blow some annoying strands away from her face every so often. Casually dressed in a white tank top and slimming skinny jeans with thin necklaces jingling around her neck, she still definitely looked good.  
"Okay," she said in a tone which suggested she didn't quite understand how sensitive Yamato's lungs were, but would follow up later. Perhaps. "Asuma, do you need some help with that?"  
"I'd be ever so grateful," Asuma replied, giving her such an unbearably soft smile in return that Genma stuck a finger down his throat and make a puking noise.  
Yamato slipped onto the seat next to him, idly watching the two cooking and somehow flirting, with prolonged and much unnecessary touching, while making breakfast.  
"Do you need a hand?"  
"We're okay, but thank you for the offer," Kurenai politely declined.  
Yamato allowed himself a tiny upwards incline of his lips. Figures.  
"Hey, does that guy upstairs-what's-his-name-want any? You know, the one that slept in your room last night?"  
Yamato's smile quickly fell at Genma's seemingly-innocent words, replaced by a shittily strong sense of embarrassment. Kurenai and Asuma had turned around to survey him with squinted eyes.  
"Had some fun last night?" Asuma asked, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't really pin you for a one-night-stand kind of guy."  
"I'm not!" Yamato protested frantically, searching for a way to summarise all that had happened last night. "I found him in an alleyway, and-"  
"Yamato, you do know hookers typically hang out in-"  
"He's not a gigolo!"  
"Did you pay him anyt-"  
"I didn't sleep with him! He slept in the spare bed!"  
"Then why were you on top of him this morning?" Genma commented, again with that damn apparent innocence of a questioning child asking how babies are made. Also with the hidden smirk of a master chess player who knows he's already won the game forty moves in advance.  
That also didn't help Yamato's blushing situation at all. Asuma and Kurenai looked like they were barely holding in laughter, cheeks wobbling and lips tightly sewn shut, but wavering fast.  
"I wasn't-" Yamato started, and then realised he really couldn't say that wasn't strictly untrue. "I give up."  
The laughter finally released, and the free sounds echoed through Yamato's head as his face met the kitchen table, burning against the cool marble.  
"You're the fucking best to mess with, I swear," Genma chuckled loudly, thumping him hard on the back. "Chin up, you know I'm just fucking with you."  
"Like that guy," Kurenai added, still caught up in giggles.  
Yamato raised his forehead exactly four inches off the surface, just enough to glare at her lightly dancing green eyes with enough venom to bore through them completely. And then, of course, Kakashi walked in. His hair wasn't fixed at all, (although Yamato assumed his bladder was) dirty-looking, flaky and ashy as ever, his hooded eye flitting from intelligent to bored and back in a split instant, slouched in his own battered clothes (he must've fetched them from the sitting room-and probably Yamato's clothes were there too, crumpled up in a sorry heap), his left arm sleeve flapping loosely.  
"That's the guy?" Kurenai asked him.  
"No, it's just a random stranger wandering around the house," Yamato answered, hauling his face up again to above his shoulders. "Everyone, this is Kakashi. Kakashi, this is-"  
"Roommate!" Asuma greeted with a tight smile.  
"I'm Kurenai," Kurenai smiled mildly, outstretching a hand.  
Kakashi didn't make any move to take it, and after a few seconds her smile faded and she withdrew her hand.  
"Genma."  
Kakashi nodded, gaze lazily ambling from one figure to the next, seemingly without seeing any distinction between them. If he had a reaction, he definitely didn't show it.  
"Do you want breakfast?" Asuma addressed him, aiming the spatula at him.  
Kakashi nodded again, hesitantly. He padded silently over to the chair beside Yamato, pulling a compact paperback out of a pocket. Yamato recognised it as part of the same series he was reading against the wall and felt mildly curious as to the content. Mildly. As in, enough to aim his gaze downwards and to the side barely keeping half the page in his vision. Tilting his head almost imperceptibly, he could almost-just about-make out words if he concentrated. Then Kakashi shifted to the side, knees pointing towards Yamato, and sight of the words were totally lost.  
Asuma slapped some slices of salty bacon, drowning in grease, scrambled egg and...some other type of processed meat on plates, sliding them towards the troop. Yamato broke off some kitchen paper and wisely soaked up all the grease before eating;he really despised the feeling of cold, clammy greased fat residing in his stomach after eating such foods. All the others, however, scoffed the breakfast down quicker than he believed was possible or even safe. And even before the thought had pattered into his head to glance slyly at Kakashi eating (because who wasn't curious about why he covered up his lower face?) there was an utterly empty plate in front of the man next to him. A soft burp was heard as Yamato stared in disbelief, wondering if he should check that Kakashi wasn't choking or hadn't stuffed all the food into his pockets (which, judging by Kakashi's previous behaviour, Yamato judged to be entirely possible.)  
"Thanks," Kakashi mumbled as he fluidly skidded off the chair, withdrawing quickly. "I'm going now."  
Asuma and Kurenai replied with the usual chorus of "no bother,", but just before Kakashi turned to pad out Yamato cut in.  
"Are you sure you're strong enough to make it back to the dorms?"  
Kakashi's expression didn't change, but Yamato thought he picked up on just a little more silent contempt aimed at him than usual. Showing his back to Yamato, he spoke coldly.  
"I'm fine. I don't need help."  
With that, he walked out, leaving Yamato's mouth stretching open in a reply that would never be said.  
"Told you he was rude," Asuma sighed, waggling a told-you finger at all present.  
"You would think he'd show a little more gratitude to Yamato for letting him stay," Kurenai admitted. "What precisely happened yesterday?"  
"Yamato drags this completely messed-up guy here, he gets me to call my bloody ex to unfuck-up this dude, he's fixed up then but he's gotta not be moved much-something about a bleedin' shoulder-so Yamboi sets him up in the spare fecking bed. That's it."  
"Basically," Yamato blinked. "Basically, but with a lot more cursing."  
"I see...basically," Kurenai turned her full attention to Yamato, hopefully signalling that Yamato should answer her, not Genma. "So you don't know him?"  
"He's an acquaintance," Yamato answered honestly. "I'd talked to him a few times before, and we like the same seat in the café. That's pretty much it."  
"I see," Kurenai mused, gesturing to the dishes collected in the sink and looking at Genma and Yamato pointedly. "Asuma, you know anything about him?"  
"Why you askin'?" Asuma grumped, sending a skeptical look to Kurenai. "He's nothing. I'm pretty sure even Gai doesn't like him."  
"You get jealous way too easily," Genma deadpanned, rolling his eyes. "Have you seen him? He has most of his bloody face covered and he wears the exact same clothes every fucking day."  
"More importantly, I have taste," Kurenai pointed out.  
"And yet you like Asuma," Genma snorted.  
"I don't!" Kurenai denied at the exact same time Asuma exclaimed, "She does?!"  
"They may be blind," Genma concluded, Yamato nodding in agreement with an amused smile.  
While Yamato was washing up, he could see Asuma carefully place one big hand over Kurenai's, who smiled, a light blush dusting her cheeks. Grinning to himself, Yamato shook his head and glowered mildly at Genma to assist him and dry the dishes.  
"Genma, please help out for once," Yamato prompted, craning his neck to look at him.  
"Ah, sorry I've got some...stuff to do, you know, catch up on study and...other stuff," Genma made an extraordinarily weak excuse and began to slink towards the door.  
And found his exit blocked. Yamato, still with some foamy suds on his hand, stood in front of the door with his legs planted wide apart in a power pose.  
"Sorry. You're not leaving until you dry up."  
"What are you, my mom?" Genma whined as Yamato took tight hold of his arm and physically dragged him over to the sink. "Ow, Yamato, not so tight! Stop showing off your arm strength-"  
"I'll show you my arm strength by punching you in the mouth if you don't shut up," Yamato answered, parking Genma beside him and flinging a dishcloth at him.  
"This is slavery," Genma grumbled, but quietly, going against his nature.  
"Just dry five plates and some cutlery. It's not that taxing."  
"Hey, me and Kurenai are going for a walk, 'k?" Asuma informed them, the duo heading out of the kitchen.  
"Sure," Yamato acknowledged.  
Genma, on the other hand, raced out after them to yell.  
"Remember to dispose of the condoms properly in case some kids find them and think they're balloons!"  
"Genma, this is a college campus. Why would there be children here?"  
"It happens," Genma insisted. "Sometimes. Protect the children."  
Yamato gave up, simply rolling his eyes in response. He thrust a dish towards Genma, who obligingly began swiping it with the tea towel, surprisingly enough. The house was silent after the front door banged shut for a couple of seconds,until Genma buckled.  
"Do you think they're gonna fuck here or at Kurenai's?"  
"Genma, nobody has sex on the first date."  
"They've known each other for months, and some people do," Genma countered, giving Yamato a sly, knowing wink.  
“That’s up to them, I guess,” Yamato replied simply, his mind elsewhere.  
He really didn’t want to picture his two friends fucking, thank you very much.  
“Done!” Genma declared after a few minutes of idle chat and highly reluctant drying of the dishes.  
“Thank you,” Yamato addressed him, glancing at his watch and heading quickly for the door. “See you later, and please don’t kill any of my plants while I’m away.”  
“Only if they try to kill me first,” Genma grumbled loudly back, flopping onto the couch.  
Yamato smiled, a little bemused as to when his plants had ever tried to kill Genma. There was that one time he tripped over a trailing leaf and almost toppled uncontrollably down the stairs, but that was his fault for not watching his step anyway.  
Well, he probably shouldn’t have placed the plant there in the first place, but hey! Genma got blamed anyway and nobody but Genma’s pride was hurt. Yamato giggled a little at the thought of Genma and one of his favourite plants squaring up to fight in a boxing ring, leaves topped with boxing gloves and a padded helmet ringing the petals.  
He stepped outside the door, smiled at the overcast grey sky that was oddly pretty and reminded him of something that he couldn’t quite place at that moment, and, with a quick glance at his watch, departed for the familiar destination.  
\--  
Yamato headed for his seat-and discovered that is was already occupied. Kakashi's slumped posture was instantly recognisable, even if his whole appearance and that damn orange book permanently glued to his hand weren't. Yamato's polite smile tightened around the edges as he took a quick glance around the mobbed café, and then settled onto Kakashi's heels casually resting on the only other possibly free seat.  
Tapping one finger against the side of his coffee cup, Yamato's already tight smile snapped and disappeared completely, chewing on the side of his lip indecisively as his gaze crawled up Kakashi's enormously crumpled black clothing. Kakashi's eye was firmly fixated on the page in front of him, eyeball twitching as he read down the lines, utterly unaware of Yamato's presence, seemingly.  
"May I sit there?"  
Yamato's voice had no effect on Kakashi. Definitely not any effect he could see, anyway.  
"Kakashi, the entire café is full. Please get your feet off that seat and let me sit down to enjoy my coffee."  
Kakashi heaved a ginormous sigh, and with massive effort, hauled his gaze up to meet Yamato's.  
"That seat is occupied."  
"By who?"  
"By my feet. Now, if you don't mind, I'm trying to read."  
"Kakashi. That is bullshit."  
"It may be to you, but it is true that you can't sit down on the seat at the moment, is it not?"  
Yamato briefly considered trying to sit down on Kakashi's feet, but they were clad in tough, worn boots that looked like they had possibly been through the Amazon on a pleasant hike. Several times. He did not desire that filth on his butt anytime soon. Or anytime ever, really.  
"Yes, but your feet would not be considered a person."  
"How about just an occupier?"  
"Doesn't count as an occupier if they're not a person."  
"They're part of a person."  
"No. They're feet."  
Yamato was NOT backing down on this.  
"I'm not moving."  
Neither was Kakashi.  
"You have no reason not to."  
"I do. I'm comfortable."  
"I'm not. Do you have any consideration for other people's needs?"  
"Why should I?"  
"It's polite. Basic. Politeness."  
"Your comfort is not my concern."  
"Honestly, are you ever not selfish?"  
"Nah."  
Yamato could feel his fingers ringing the cup with unnecessary tenseness, and also feel the heat evaporating from the coffee faster than he'd like. Soon it would be lukewarm, and lukewarm coffee fucking sucked. Taking a step forward, he placed his cup down on the table, thrust his palms under Kakashi's lower calves and quickly dislodged them from the seat, flinging them to the floor. He really hoped that no bits of dirt had smeared onto the seat bottom and that he wouldn't stand up with smudges all over his butt. Slamming his ass down before Kakashi could even attempt to dump his stupid dirty boots back onto it, he could sense Kakashi's filthy glare on him before even seeing it.  
"That was my fucking chair."  
"You have a chair," Yamato replied evenly, lifting the cup to his lips to hide the unpreventable, forming smirk.  
"My feet also need a chair."  
"They'll have to make do with the floor, I'm afraid."  
"They deserve better treatment than this," Kakashi grumbled, giving Yamato one last stink-eye before he returned to his book again.  
"Then they deserve better than those boots too," Yamato mumbled, more to himself than anyone else.  
The only indication that he'd heard Yamato's comment was an almost imperceptible narrowing of his eye, but Kakashi chose not to retaliate and kept reading. Yamato was fine with that. It meant that he could drink in peace-well, perhaps not peace but tolerable silence.  
Or....maybe not that tolerable.  
After much, much inner debating (perhaps I'm imagining it, oh no he did it again I'm not would he just stop already that's quite annoying) Yamato spoke up sharply.  
"Would you please stop doing that?"  
Of course, Kakashi had the nerve to simply blink lethargically at him, bringing up one hand to carelessly ruffle his hair as he regarded Yamato blankly.  
"What am I doing?"  
"You know," Yamato replied, a small amount of panic running around his body.  
He didn't imagine the foot insistently nudging up along his crossed ankles, right? At the very least, he'd never hallucinated the feeling of a thick, dirt-caked boot gently tapping against the side of his leg quite so vividly.  
"Oh," Kakashi raised his face towards the sky, his tone one of honest forgetfulness. "I was just stretching out my legs. Am I bothering you?"  
"I'd appreciate it if you placed your feet elsewhere."  
"There is another solution," Kakashi offered helpfully, keeping the honest, I-have-absolutely-no-ulterior-motives tone steady. "You could move to another table."  
Of course, Yamato thought. Of fucking course.  
Pressing both his palms to the table hard, Yamato leaned forward slowly, cautiously, low to the surface, taking his sweet time and intensely staring down Kakashi's glazed eye with what was hopefully an intimidating glower.  
Motionless, Kakashi simply returned the glare, but Yamato could feel his foot snaking provokingly around his shins, which just pissed him off further. Halting about four inches away from Kakashi's draped face (Yamato could, if he focused, select some subtle flecks of bright silver and strangely highlighted blue in Kakashi's iris, but he chose not to focus) Yamato breathed in and concentrated on not messing up his next lines.  
"Listen. I like this seat, and whatever you do, I'm going to stay here and keep sitting here until you either learn to deal with the fact that this is a public place and people can sit wherever the hell they want or give up and move."  
Kakashi inclined his head forward a tiny bit, breaking the mutual glaring.  
"K."  
Satisfied, Yamato began to shimmy a retreat back into his seat-until his ass was suddenly jabbed by two twin lumps of unyielding leather. Jolting up straight, Yamato spun around to once again behold his seat unhappily occupied by two foot-shaped, useless chunks of dried dirt. Right about now, Yamato thought bitterly, would be the perfect time for a meteor the size of a pea to land on Kakashi's crotch and burn everything there to a painful crisp.  
"I'm not going to give up either," Kakashi called to him cheerfully, waggling his boots.  
Resisting the urge to slam his fist down on Kakashi's knee, (see how damn chirpy he would be then) Yamato lifted his chin, eying Kakashi's amused expression edgily. He told himself to stay calm, and somehow pretending he was back in Danzo's agency and that Kakashi was his target helped.  
"You'll need to pee eventually."  
"Not before you have to leave for classes," Kakashi swiftly shot back.  
"We're both in the same psychology class, idiot."  
"And I'm consistently late every time, dumbass."  
"That's the best insult you could come up with?" Yamato quirked his eyebrows upwards.  
Dumbass? He expected better.  
"That's the best comeback you could come up with?" Kakashi's answer was dry, a bored expression fixing itself on the visible parts of his face.  
Fighting back an embarrassed wince, Yamato dropped his hands and swiftly shoved at Kakashi's ankles with all his strength. Caught by surprise, Kakashi's upper body lurched forwards against the table, hooked by the momentum of his falling feet.  
"Ah..." Kakashi breathed, his heels resting uncomfortably on the floor and one smug Yamato safely seated on his chair. "Fuck."  
Managing to resist grinning like a fool, Yamato kept his idiotic sense of satisfaction to himself, taking a sip of coffee to hide his smirk. Cold. Yamato made a disgusted face, gazing down at the halfway full cup with disappointment, whirling around the last of it idly.  
"Cold, is it?"  
At Kakashi's innocent inquiry, Yamato looked up sharply, narrowing his eyes.  
"If this was your plan all along, I swear..."  
Kakashi held his hands up, as if to demonstrate how harmless he was, but his black gloves gave quite the opposite impression. As if he was hiding knuckle dusters underneath.  
"How was I to know you disliked cold coffee? If you hadn't spent so much time sitting on that chair, though-"  
"No," Yamato interrupted. "If you hadn't used up so much of my time messing around I would've drunk a nice, satisfying cup of hot coffee by now."  
"When have I ever messed you around?"  
In answer, Yamato gave him a flat glower, but he extended his legs out underneath the table too, rubbing his foot smugly up against Kakashi's ankle.  
Then, out of nowhere, Kakashi's other foot locked Yamato's in between his ankles, securing his right shoe masterfully. Attempting to tug it out, Yamato subtly braced himself against the table for support, shaking it a little as he tried to yank his foot back.  
Kakashi was once again absorbed in the pages of that book which Yamato never read but already absolutely despised, seemingly unaware of Yamato's low-key struggles. Pressing his mouth shut, Yamato stubbornly promised himself he wasn't going to ask Kakashi to release him. He was going to wiggle his way out of this on his own. Asking would be Kakashi's victory.  
Jiggling his foot as much as Yamato could, Kakashi's ankles only constricted tighter, squeezing his foot in the cage further. Cursing inwardly, Yamato checked the time and cussed some more, biting the inside of his lip in frustration.  
"You'll need to leave soon," Kakashi's matter-of-fact voice floated over to him from behind the book. "Or you'll be late for class."  
"Don't worry about that," Yamato ground his teeth together, giving his foot a sharp jerk upwards and hit the inside of Kakashi's knee. "I'll be out of here in a few minutes."  
Kakashi lowered the book down to his nose, his gaze regarding Yamato politely. Yamato thought he saw amusement in the grey, perhaps a little spark of a challenge too.  
"Is that so?"  
Raising his chin while trying to tug his foot out between Kakashi's firmly shut-together calves, Yamato nodded confidently.  
"Watch me."  
To Yamato's surprise, Kakashi's shoulders rose up and down in a soundless chuckle, his stormy eye crinkling up. Somehow, that annoyed Yamato even further. Was this entertaining to this prick? He could be tardy for Gai's class...and he really didn't want to find out what his bad side was like.  
"Good luck with that."  
And of course that only served to fuel Yamato's determination further, his fingers clenching harder on the table as he wiggled his foot inside his shoe experimentally. They had always been a little loose...  
"Aha!"  
Before Kakashi could react, Yamato's foot had popped out, freed from the human bars. And yet, caught up in his triumph, Yamato didn't notice Kakashi scooping his shoe up from underneath the table until he was holding it up and examining it in plain view.  
"Someone left a perfectly good shoe lying around. What a waste."  
"Hey, give it back-"  
Yamato lunged forward across the table, but Kakashi leisurely stretched his arm above his head, successfully keeping the spotlessly shined shoe out of his reach.  
"I wonder if I could sell it-"  
"You asshole! This is something schoolchildren would do and it's ridiculous!"  
"Oh, busting out the profanity now are we?"  
Yamato fumed so much he left his elbow slide sideways on the slippery surface, and with a soft patter of pottery on lino his cup tipped over;and now stone-cold liquid spilt everywhere. It soaked into Yamato's shirt (he was lying down on the table trying to reach across to Kakashi), dripped onto the floor profusely and rapidly coated the table in a pool of coffee.  
"Godfuckingdammit!"  
Yamato yelled out in a low tone, looking around in a panic to see if anyone had seen the blunder. They had. Some chick with bright pink hair was giggling subtly, and there was this blonde bimbo almost pissing himself next to her.  
"What's so funny?" Yamato grumbled under his breath. "I spilt a drink. That's all."  
"It's not the drink spilling that's amusing," Kakashi cut in, ignoring the daggers Yamato was glowering over at him. "It's your idiocy."  
"I'm not the idiot keeping a shoe that doesn't belong to me!" Yamato snapped back, pulling out his tissues and mopping up what he could to clear the table. "I'm going to go up and ask for a towel or something, so give it back already."  
"You do make a good case," Kakashi admitted, flicking over a page idly. "No."  
"You're pathetic."  
"Been told that several times before, yes."  
"And mean."  
"Oh wow. Such an original insult."  
"You're like a schoolyard bully."  
"So you want to buy me lunch? Thanks."  
Spluttering, Yamato's glare at Kakashi could've split atoms. However, it didn't even crack the grey glass of amusement in Kakashi's eye.  
"I. Will. Never. Buy. You. Lunch."  
"So you say now. But I could pay you...you see, I have this very nice shoe here..."  
"No."  
"Are you sure? It seems to be just your size, too..."  
"Never."  
Kakashi heaved a sigh, stretching backwards in his chair, his fingertips ghosting off the wall behind him.  
"That's too bad. I suppose I'll just have to dump a perfectly good shoe."  
Yamato lunged again and was more successful;snatching away Kakashi's book left on the table before he could withdraw his arms fast enough to defend. Yamato flicked through the pages absently, not really taking in anything but closely observing Kakashi's muffled reaction. How dear was this book to him?  
"Doesn't matter. I've got three more copies at home."  
Yamato narrowed his eyes, skeptically running his gaze over Kakashi's crossed arms and hunched shoulders.  
"And I think it does matter. I think you're lying."  
"It's nice to have opinions, but thinking really doesn't suit you."  
"So..." Yamato started, pinching the top of a page with his thumb and forefinger, making it clearly visible to Kakashi. "I like this page. May I tear it out?"  
Yamato paused and glanced up at an expressionless Kakashi, but observing his eye twitch uncomfortably with some great amusement. Now it was Kakashi's turn to sweat. He wasn't bluffing, and he let Kakashi know it. Through very hardcore eye contact. Eventually Kakashi sighed profusely and threw his head back, face to the ceiling in exasperation.  
"Fine, fine," Kakashi grunted in submission, finally. "I'll give you your dumb shoe back."  
He held out the shoe halfway over the table, and Yamato held out the book also. Kakashi grabbed the other end with his free hand and Yamato took very firm hold of the top of his shoe.  
"On three, we release," Yamato instructed. "One, two, three."  
Yamato was beyond surprised when Kakashi silently swiped his book back and let the shoe go easily, on three.  
"You really love that book, huh?"  
Now he was regretting not peeking more closely in it when he had the chance.  
"Why do you say that?" Kakashi responded calmly, stuffing the novel away in an abnormally large jacket pocket.  
Yamato briefly wondered how much stuff he could fit in those inside pockets, and pondered if Kakashi was really as big as he appeared. Or if his chest was that...broad as it seemed.  
"Hey. Eyes up here," Kakashi's voice brought Yamato back to reality and not Kakashi's chest.  
"Oh. Apologies," Yamato started before it hit him he shouldn't be apologising to this shoe-stealing asshole.  
Out of pure habit, he checked his watch.  
"Oh...sugar!"  
Leaping out of his seat, Yamato's frantic scramble around the crammed café was generously observed by a highly entertained Kakashi, sipping tea in the corner. A tiny upward curl tugging at Kakashi's lips, he watched Yamato hurriedly weave clumsily around people to reach the door with a slightly warmer gaze.  
He guessed that Yamato would probably run, or at least jog all the way to the classroom, arriving out of breath and perhaps a little late. The image of a flushing Yamato choking out gasped apologies to a not-that-bothered Gai made Kakashi's small smile break free.  
He liked how he could smile under his bandana without anyone knowing. So he smiled fully now, in the comfy knowledge that nobody knew what he was grinning about or even that he was smiling.  
Kakashi drained the last of his tea with his usual technique of bringing it up under the cloth, his hand patting his breast where he made sure the novel was there. Yamato's grab for it, and flick through it had spooked Kakashi more than he wanted to admit, like there was a part of Kakashi in the book, an intimate part of him buried in the series he adored. And the instant panic that flooded through him when Yamato had taken it...the feeling was strange. He'd initially thought it was panic, but it was scarier than that;nervous excitement.  
Excitement?  
Kakashi turned the word over in his mind carefully, comparing it to what he felt at the time. Mouth drying up, heart thudding wildly, his palms suddenly damp with prickling sweat, his stomach twisting queasily. Seemed close enough.  
Why was he excited?  
Shaking his head, Kakashi put down the cup and rose, deciding to head to class in a brisk stroll. He could think about it on the way there.  
If he wanted to.  
\--  
The next day, Yamato was there first, and he came prepared. No longer would he have to stare at the table, the middle space in between the book Kakashi held and the cup Yamato's hands cradled, to avoid looking at Kakashi.  
He came equipped with a book.  
He didn't equip the note.  
It wouldn't have been a problem if he'd discovered it earlier, wedged between the 37th chapter where the heroine just got served up a glass of an unknown poison in a negotiation and the following one where the villain paid tribute to his dead grandmother by laying murdered squirrels outside her house door. Sadly, he discovered it when Kakashi was already seated and already deeply involved in his own book. The note wasn't folded. Yamato couldn't not read it, the moment he turned the page and his poor, unanticipating gaze saw white he automatically read the printed words.  
New job for you.  
You have one week to accept.  
It was unsigned for a reason. The font was always the same. Times New Fucking Roman. He knew who it was, and he knew exactly what the "new job" most likely entailed of. That was okay;it was okay, the parts he knew. What wasn't okay was the parts he didn't know. He didn't know how Danzo found him so fucking fast. He'd thought -he'd guessed, estimated, hoped with all his heart that he was careful enough, cautious enough so Danzo couldn't find him, for at least another year. How? How did he trace him all the way here?  
Yamato thought he was pretty damn skilled at plastering over his emotions, but then Kakashi looked up.  
"Yamato?"  
"What."  
Kakashi's gaze scanned Yamato's tightened posture, seeing right through his consciously lowered, but still tense, shoulders and meticulously steadied, counted breaths. From his prolonged stare, Yamato knew he knew something was wrong. Whether or not he decided to pursue this observation further, press for a reason, was entirely up to him. Yamato unlatched one hand off the hardback cover, shakily flexing his whitened fingers to get the blood flowing again.  
"Is everything okay?"  
Yamato tried to hold back his surprise. Sure, his tone was as disinterested as if he was asking what Yamato's heating bill amounted to, but he had asked.  
"Good book," Yamato managed to edge out of his locked-up jaws. "There's some good plot twists."  
Then Kakashi fucking did the slow blink on him. One-eyed. He drooped his eyelid gradually, held it for a second and then openly levelled Yamato with a look which said he didn't fucking believe any of it.  
"If you say so."  
No more was said on the matter, and Kakashi continued his reading in silence, without another glance at Yamato.  
That was probably for the best. Yamato's muscles couldn't relax at all, his mouth going dry, the words on the book page impossible to focus on. He didn't want to go back. He didn't ever want to go back, but now that he was found it was only a matter of time before-Yamato shook his head in despair, unwilling to finish that thought.  
He liked it here. But he'd left the book on the kitchen countertop before he'd set out for the café this morning, that was when they must've placed the note there. They'd managed to get in and out of his house without him noticing anything. Nothing. He'd been much too relaxed to notice anything out of the ordinary, dammit, he'd been becoming so accustomed to a normal life that his guard had dropped. Who was he fooling? He could never lead a peaceful life.  
Then the obvious question entered his mind, the one that should've been there from the beginning, he was being so slow, this was not good.  
Who put the note there in the first place?  
\--  
Sakura hadn't seen that guy around before a couple of days ago. He unnerved her, with his deep black eyes which seemed to scan everything with a cool detachment, his whitewashed face as plain as a flat wall. Sakura was sure she could've found more expression in a wall too. At least you knew underneath the plaster and paint there was bricks, cement, maybe some mice, wires, insulation, everything that made up the wall.  
He was like a blank page, unreadable because there was simply nothing there. To say the least, she was thoroughly shocked when he asked her out on a date. Within the first week of introducing himself to her, Naruto and Sasuke.  
"So...where are you from?" Sakura asked cautiously.  
Honestly, she'd accepted his request for coffee more out of curiosity than anything else. He was handsome enough, she supposed, with high cheekbones and hair like black silk that flopped over his coal-black eyes occasionally, which he brushed aside too formally, almost mechanically, as if the gesture was practiced as an exercise and not a natural reaction.  
"I'm not exactly from any one place," Sai replied with a thin smile.  
"Okay, so where did you live before here?" Sakura coupled it with a gentle, faked smile.  
Perhaps that would loosen his guard. Form cracks that Sakura could pry open and peer inside the stone armour.  
She hoped.  
"You wouldn't know it," He replied starkly, his eyes dropping to her widened mouth.  
"How do you know that?"  
Sakura couldn't stop a sliver of irritation worming itself into her voice, yet if he noticed it, she couldn't tell. His composure was flawlessly calm.  
"Nice weather today."  
"What?"  
"Isn't weather a popular point for small talk?"  
"Yes, but you can't simply change subject that quickly," Sakura huffed, vivid green eyes attempting to separate out the irises from his equally black eyes.  
"Can I not?" He answered, bland as ever.  
Sakura finally picked out his irises-it had taken her much longer than she expected, his eyes were not merely dark brown, but pure black-and discovered why he appeared distracted. His eyes weren't focused on her at all, almost unnoticeably flickering back and forth, but rarely settling on her. She simply wasn't his main focus.  
"No," She replied, stretching out and darting her eyes to the side subtly, tracing his stare. "But you're right, it has been lovely lately."  
An even reply. Perhaps, she had figured out some of his character. Or, at the very least, where his real attention was. She was certain his gaze was fixed on two figures across the café.  
\--  
One week. One damn week to make him sweat.  
Yamato wasn't one typical for cursing, but in this situation he allowed himself some release.  
"I can't believe...fuck, it happened, doesn't matter if I fucking believe it or not. I won't go back, I won't let him have that kind of control again. But I can't do shit about it, if he wants me back he will he always wins..."  
Pacing back and forth in his meticulous room, Yamato's hands were fiddling with anything they could lay their fingers on, his shirt cuffs, undoing and knotting his buttons together again, diving in and out of his pockets in rhythm with his steps. Eventually they settled, tightly gripping a lock of hair from resting on his forehead, his slight stress lip-biting habit whirling out of his control;Yamato was much too occupied with his thoughts to give any attention to what his body was doing.  
So Danzo wanted him back. Yamato knew he had the best record out of the whole organisation, but he had hoped someone else, some upcoming skilled person younger than him would divert his attention. Hoping that he'd realise he didn't need Yamato anymore and simply let him go, but now Yamato saw clearly he was way too optimistic.  
Yamato stopped dead in his circular path, blankly glaring at the door.  
"What now?"  
His hushed murmur to himself was still much too loud in the empty room. The words seemed to reverberate around and come right back to him, same as before. Answerless.  
He could run, sure. Run away again and try someplace new, but...he liked it here. He liked Genma, Asuma, Kurenai, and his lecturer Gai with his infallible enthusiasm, and even Kakashi and Anko were tolerable. He liked the house (it was affordable with the money Yamato had borrowed-okay, perhaps stolen-from Danzo) and he liked the fascinating courses he was taking, the café, the garden centre and just...this place in general. He couldn't exactly explain it, but he fitted in here, with an established routine that wasn't monotonous or boring.  
Plus, Yamato figured, if he ran again, Danzo would find him. His former Boss had so many connections it honestly scared him. And he knew the drill. There was undoubtedly someone shadowing him already. Short of killing them or placing them in hospital, Yamato couldn't stop them from tracking him, but perhaps he could pick them out from the rest, limit them and hinder their observations. Control the watcher.  
Yamato resumed his pacing, a little less infuriated this time and a little more thoughtful. Obviously he wasn't going to accept that job (he was so goddamn sick of murder he couldn't even watch gory films with Genma without getting bad, bad memories) but he had to think-how was Danzo going to take his refusal? Yamato reckoned he'd try to threaten him (fear tactics would not work, they were embodying the very thing Yamato was taught to suppress) but not him exactly.  
Something the observer gauged that was important to him, something or someone that was too precious to Yamato to lose. Yamato didn't want to think of how far he'd go. He didn't want to theorise the precise deal Danzo would propose, but perhaps if he gave the impression that he was still emotionally detached from the world he could escape any painful decisions.  
His brow creased up, a sudden wave of dizziness racing through him sickly, and his feet abruptly cracked sideways, dumping him on the floor awkwardly. The nausea left him as soon as he hit the ground, retreating back into his side before vanishing as unexpectedly as it came.  
Yamato frowned deeper, raising a hand to his head. Did he think so much that he physically felt the effects?  
"Fuck this," Yamato threw his head back to the ceiling, sighing heavily.  
He knew however many times he said it he'd never be able to act upon it. Yamato was too innately cautious to play it by ear. There was no way he'd go out tomorrow without being prepared and having a plan, even if he had to stay up all night.  
Sharply, Yamato smacked the side of his head, closing his eyes and zoning in onto the dull pain, focusing his mind. Surely he could come up with something.  
One week.  
\--  
Meanwhile, Kakashi was fucked.  
"I really don't want to deal with this," Kakashi exhaled deeply, bending backwards in the chair to a dangerous degree.  
"Kakashi, you have to take this seriously," Gai pushed, plonking both his thick hands on the desk, a definitely uncharacteristic deep cleft between his eyebrows. "These are dangerous people."  
Kakashi's gaze wandered over the brightly coloured walls as he replied absently.  
"Yeah, yeah, I know that. I'll think of something."  
Gai sighed shallowly, rising from his desk and dropping to the floor. Kakashi didn't question it-he'd seen Gai's one-finger push-ups many times before when he was nervous, enough times to get used to his erratic, on-the-spot exercising timetable.  
"I trust you, Kakashi," Gai started, lowering his nose to the floor. "I know you will do the best thing, but I'm worried for you at the same time. You can't hide all of those bruises, you know."  
The two front legs of Kakashi's chair clicked back onto the floor, his expression unchanged.  
"Where did you get this tip-off from, anyway?"  
"Sasuke's counsellor," Gai answered. "Usually they aren't allowed to discuss what their patients tell them, but Sasuke overhearing his brother and the rest talking about you was important enough for Aoba to mention it to me."  
"Hmm," Kakashi's fingers twitched, tugging at his gloves. "Thanks for letting me know, but your concern isn't necessary. I'll be okay."  
"Are you sure?" Gai's worried face popped back up over the desk.  
Kakashi rose, nodding confidently.  
"You said you trusted me. So trust me on this when I say I'll be fine."  
Kakashi exiting swiftly, Gai pulled himself back onto his spinning chair, trying to dispel his worries. He glanced out at the darkness lurking behind the white blinds, convinced himself once again that he had fabricated that shifting movement, that it was only a swaying tree which he couldn't quite make out properly.  
"I hope you're right, Kakashi," He mumbled before flinging himself into the looming paperwork.  
\--  
Kakashi knew it was a bad idea to walk home at night. Night and early morning were the dangerous times. Too bad Kakashi was always a bit of a risk-taker, simply a tad too self-destructive. He hurried along the path with his silver head bowed, mentally picturing the path ahead and trying to push away the imaginary monsters that came with the shadows.  
"Hello again!"  
Kakashi was floored before he even knew what happened, an agonising pain twisting through his stomach while he curled up on the cold cement into the familiar ball. A low groan passed his lips, arms clutching at his stomach, writhing around his injury as he heard deliberate, loud footsteps approach.  
"What, no greeting? How rude."  
A foot smashed heavily into his back, causing a shivering shudder to course through Kakashi, biting back a cry. What was the point of crying out for help if no-one would come? Everyone just took care of themselves-  
Flashes of memories hit Kakashi, somewhat soothing recollections of someone sitting him up in a dark alleyway, someone supporting him unfalteringly, carrying him to a safe place. Someone with dark, yet bright eyes and a smile as gentle as his hands were. Someone had actually cared for hi-  
"Agh-"  
Another hard blow to the chest winded Kakashi, his breath coming out in rapid, harsh bellows and he heard chuckling. Nasty chuckling, as if the person had to cough up phlegm but had just been told a hilarious joke at the same time, and so that disgusting chuckle was born.  
"Pathetic. Waiting for someone to come along and save you again?"  
Kakashi's eyes flew open, both of them, as his right shoulder exploded in pure pain, a half-stifled scream tearing from his mouth.  
"Oops, did I break something? It doesn't matter one bit if I rip you into the little snivelling piece of shit that you are. You know why? Because nobody cares about you. Your entire existence is pointless."  
The last shreds of Kakashi's cry left his throat, the pain melding into one entity that throbbed through his whole body. Eyes straining wide in the darkness, Kakashi just about picked up the image of feet moving closer, someone crouching down next to him, next to his ear.  
"You're not doing too well on your own, now, are you bud? So stop this bullshit and join us again."  
Shaking his head weakly, Kakashi battled back the tears filling up his vision.  
Never, Kakashi thought. Never.  
Kakashi began to pick himself up, bracing against the waves of dizziness that threatened to keel him over. One limb at a time, one arm underneath supporting his body, clambering up onto his knees, every action sending intense jolts of pain through his shoulder. He sensed the person beside him straighten up, observing his quavering body with a mixture of mocking contempt and sick satisfaction. And they left him rise, left him alone to stand up until Kakashi was on his feet again, panting and clawing at his shoulder.  
"What's your answer, bud?"  
"Fuck you," Kakashi spat out bitterly.  
He barely perceived the leg flying towards his face, but barely was enough. Kakashi threw himself sideways, clumsily dodging the kick that undoubtedly would've shattered his nose. Thudding down onto his left side, Kakashi scrambled up quickly again, ears alert for any sounds. As silently as he possibly could, Kakashi began backing away towards his dorm-unfortunately quite a distance away from the lecturers' offices, and the shortcut he'd taken was unlit by streetlights. Then a blast of pain swiftly erupted in his neck, and he was flung backwards onto his back with the brutal force of the merciless punch. The forceful impact knocked all oxygen out of his body. Hands scrabbling at his throat, eyes so wide and boggling he felt they may pop out of his skull, Kakashi panicked. Breathe, breathe, breathe, please breathe, brEATHE PLEASE.  
He couldn't, no air flowing down his windpipe, his lungs simply rejecting all his soundless, squeaky pleads for them to work, to inhale. Hearing more footsteps (apparently he only could hear them when they chose) Kakashi turned towards the sound, his frightened eyes begging silently. The sensation of desperately needing to take in a breath and being unable to was panicking him beyond all reason. It was like drowning on dry land;all he wanted to do was breathe.  
"We can't kill you, remember? Although I really, really want to," the voice reminded him, the sick smile evident in their tone.  
As to prove their point, Kakashi's throat abruptly opened up again, and he roughly gulped down what seemed like litres of air, his heartbeat calming down. The thick, earthy sound of something sinking into the soil right beside his ear soon changed that. Kakashi froze, his heart pounding insanely fast against his ribs, feeling blood start to leak from a shallow cut in his ear.  
"Answer correctly next time, bud."  
Kakashi lay there as the footsteps retreated, as his blood slowly dripped into the grass surrounding the path, as his clothes soaked up the cold moisture from the soil. And then, in the darkness with all his very real monsters swirling around his mind, Kakashi exhaled. Nobody was coming for him.  
Not like before.  
Swallowing down that thought, Kakashi wondered flatly if he should get up. Yes, his shoulder was still screeching at him to fix it, his stomach pulsed much too tightly against his clothes and his throat was on fire. And yet...simply lying here seemed like a plan. He should drag himself up from the ground, he knew that, but Kakashi didn't quite want to.  
The night was mild. His staring eyes could see the clear stars in the sky's black ink, undimmed by the streetlights dotted around the campus. If he ignored the twanging, ebbing pain, he could pretend that he was out here to relax, quietly stargazing in peaceful silence.  
For some reason, Yamato came to mind, and Kakashi frowned for a second before figuring it out. Stargazing. That sounded like a lame, uninviting thing he would do. Kakashi let out a small snort, but it hurt his stomach, so he once again fell mute.  
Yamato, huh? He was a strange man indeed. Kakashi found himself pondering what he was doing right now, and came to the quick conclusion he must be in bed. After that, Kakashi's own thoughts turned to sleep, and soon drowsiness overtook him, tucking him into sleep's patient arms.  
\--  
Massaging his eyelids, Yamato slumped over his desk, glancing at the clock on his wall.  
3:41 AM  
Yamato groaned lengthily, his forehead resting on his desk as a wave of sleepiness spun around his stressed mind. He couldn't come up with any way to counter Danzo without him knowing and becoming angry. Even Yamato didn't dare to go that far.  
He needed to know who the informant was. That was a basis he could start from. Then he could possibly control what they saw, make them see what they wanted to see and report back to Danzo what he wanted to hear.  
But that didn't answer the question of what he could possibly do about the job. He didn't want to take it. Yet he knew there was no way that Danzo would let him away that easily;simply refusing to comply would undoubtedly have harsh consequences.  
Yamato banged his forehead lightly off the table-he was going around in circles for hours, no new revelations dawned on him in the mist of early morning. Continuously start a chain of murder, killing any agents Danzo sent his way? Yamato wasn't sure how long he'd last, even if he went on the run. That option was highly risky, and plus it began again what Yamato wanted to stop in the first place. Then again, he could simply refuse. Flat-out reject the job. Yamato snorted through his nostrils, tired and without much humour. It sounded so simple, so easy.  
No. No, I don't want to kill anyone ever again. No thank you and piss off please. Leave me alone, don't ever come back. Oh, so you're going to slaughter all my friends because you aren't getting exactly what you want, because I'm not acting like an expressionless robot anymore? Go right ahead. I don't give a damn, just fucking leave me alone.  
Letting out a hollow giggle, Yamato cursed, not for the first time, his new conscience. Somehow, along nineteen years of indoctrinating, among his mingling with outside parties more and more often on jobs, he'd pieced together a moral compass that had been absent all along. Basic stuff every child is taught from birth. Lying is wrong. Telling the truth is good. Making friends is healthy. Falling down and getting bruises is okay, as long as you can be patched up afterwards. Sharing is caring.  
Murder is bad.  
The irony elevated Yamato's flat chuckling to dead laughter, his lips achingly peeled back in a forced smile.  
Murder is bad.  
It sounded so simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no shoe was harmed in the writing of this.


End file.
